The Fawn

I lay close down beside the river, My bow well strung, well filled my quiver, The god that dwells among the reeds Sang sweetly from their tangled bredes; The soft-tongued water murmured low, Swinging the flag-leaves to and fro. Beyond the river, fold on fold, The hills gleamed through a film of gold; The feathery osiers waved and shone Like silver threads in tangles blown. A bird, fire-winged, with ruby throat, Down the slow, drowsy wind did float, And drift and flit and stay along, A very focal flame of song. A white sand-isle amid the stream Lay sleeping by its shoals of bream; In lilied pools, alert and calm, Great bass through lucent circles swam; And farther, by a rushy brink, A shadowy fawn stole down to drink, Where tall, thin birds unbalanced stood In sandy shallows of the flood. And what did I beside the river, With bow well-strung and well-filled quiver? I lay quite still with half-closed eyes, Lapped in a dream of Paradise, Until I heard a bow-cord ring, And from the reeds an arrow sing. I knew not of my brother's luck, If well or ill his shaft had struck; But something in his merry shout Put my sweet summer dream to rout, And up I sprang, with bow half-drawn, And keen desire to slay the fawn. But where was it? Gone like my dream. I only heard the fish-hawk scream, And the strong stripëd bass leap up Beside the lily's floating cup; I only felt the cool wind go Across my face with steady flow; I only saw those thin birds stand Unbalanced on the river sand, Low peering at some dappled thing In the green rushes quivering.