Nor failure daunts nor jeers affront,
Who sits, unheeding sun or showers,
A fishless angler in a punt.
Then, when at eve the ringdove's call
Is hushed upon the wooded hill,
And slowly lengthening shadows fall
On field and stream, and all is still,
Drift homewards, thanking Heaven that made
You free to dream awhile your dream
In this fair scene of sun and shade,