Iii

Within its channel glares the creek and shrinks, Beneath whose rocks the furtive crawfish hides In stagnant places, where the green frog blinks, And water-spider glides.

Far hotter seems it for the bird that drinks, The startled kingfisher that screams and flies; Hotter and lonelier for the purple pinks Of weeds that bloom, whose sultry perfumes rise Stifling the swooning skies.