The Pool

COME with me, follow me, swift as a moth, Ere the wood-doves waken. Lift the long leaves and look down, look down Where the light is shaken, Amber and brown, On the woven ivory roots of the reed, On a floating flower and a weft of weed And a feather of froth. Here in the night all wonders are, Lapped in the lift of the ripple's swing,– A silver shell and a shaken star, And a white moth's wing. Here the young moon when the mists unclose Swims like the bud of a golden rose. I would live like an elf where the wild grapes cling, I would chase the thrush From the red rose-berries. All the day long I would laugh and swing With the black choke-cherries. I would shake the bees from the milkweed blooms, And cool, O cool, Night after night I would leap in the pool, And sleep with the fish in the roots of the rush. Clear, O clear my dreams should be made Of emerald light and amber shade, Of silver shallows and golden glooms. Sweet, O sweet my dreams should be As the dark, sweet water enfolding me Safe as a blind shell under the sea.