Classic Poem

Thick heavy leaves of emerald lie
Upon Pohalton's waters blue,
O'erspread with lustrous drops of dew,
Dashed from my oar, as I glide by
In my swift light canoe.

Large water-lilies, virtue-pure,
Bright stars that with Pohalton fell
From heaven where the angels dwell,
Drive back the shadows that obscure,
And, siren-like, my fancies lure.

Huge frightened turtles disappear;
And as the ripples widen o'er
The lake toward the reedy shore,
The dragon-fly, a wise old seer,
Drops down upon the log to pore—

Unmindful of the moccasin
That, swift with darting tongue, slips by
And climbs a sunny drift to dry,
Reposing half awake, his tawny skin
Scarce revealed to the searching eye.

And, ever and anon, the breeze
From piney mountains far away,
Steals in; and waters kiss the day,
And break the image of the trees
That looking downward, sigh dismay.

The wood spirit is wandering near,
Wrapt in old legend mystery;
I drift alone, for none but he
And nature's self are native here
Of me to know. But now I see

The patient heron by the shore
Put down his lifted leg and fly,
While echoes from the woods reply
To each uncanny scream, low o'er
The lake into the evening sky.

Vast brooding silence crowds around;
Dark vistas lead my eye astray,
Among vague shapes beyond the day
Upon the lake, I hear no sound;
I go ashore, and hasten 'way.

Thick heavy leaves of emerald lie
Upon Pohalton's waters blue,
O'erspread with lustrous drops of dew,
Dashed from my oar, as I glide by
In my swift light canoe.

Large water-lilies, virtue-pure,
Bright stars that with Pohalton fell
From heaven where the angels dwell,
Drive back the shadows that obscure,
And, siren-like, my fancies lure.

Huge frightened turtles disappear;
And as the ripples widen o'er
The lake toward the reedy shore,
The dragon-fly, a wise old seer,
Drops down upon the log to pore—

Unmindful of the moccasin
That, swift with darting tongue, slips by
And climbs a sunny drift to dry,
Reposing half awake, his tawny skin
Scarce revealed to the searching eye.

And, ever and anon, the breeze
From piney mountains far away,
Steals in; and waters kiss the day,
And break the image of the trees
That looking downward, sigh dismay.

The wood spirit is wandering near,
Wrapt in old legend mystery;
I drift alone, for none but he
And nature's self are native here
Of me to know. But now I see.

The patient heron by the shore
Put down his lifted leg and fly,
While echoes from the woods reply
To each uncanny scream, low o'er
The lake into the evening sky.

Vast brooding silence crowds around;
Dark vistas lead my eye astray,
Among vague shapes beyond the day
Upon the lake, I hear no sound;
I go ashore, and hasten 'way.