Iii

All golden the spot in the noon’s gold shine, Where the yellow-bird sits with eyes like wine And swings and whistles; where, line on line, In coils of warmth the sunbeams nestle; Where cool by the pool (where the crawfish, fine As a shadow’s shadow, darts dim) to mine The wet creek-clay with their peevish whine, Come mason-hornets; and roll and wrestle With balls of clay they carry, and twine In hollow nests on the joists o’ the trestle.