Читать книгу Poems, and The Spring of Joy - Mary Webb - Страница 38

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By this low rock pool, dark and sweet,

Where panting Summer cools her feet,

No creature stirs, except the leaves

That sometimes glide along the air

Like children down a shallow stair,

And nothing strives or grieves.

The long ferns drip from every frond.

Green, round and polished lies the pond,

A mirror for the stooping moon.

Above, the fall is straight and white,

A comet in a sultry night,

Among the leaves of June.

All spell-bound in the drowsy gloom,

Grey-leaved, white-flowered, the mulleins bloom;

And if a swallow suddenly

Should cut the pool with one sharp wing,

Of if a thrush come here to sing,

It seems a prodigy.

A lone green valley, good for sheep,

Where still the ancient fairies keep

Their right of way and copyhold

All night with mullein torches. Far

Within the stream, a dreaming star

Has laid a spell of gold.