Iv

Entering the skiff, she speaks:

Waters flowing dark and bright In the sunlight or the moon, Fill my soul with such delight As some visible music might; As some slow, majestic tune Made material to the sight.

Blossoms colored like the skies, Sunset-hued and tame or wild, Fill my soul with such surmise As the mind might realize If one’s thoughts, all undefiled, Should take form before the eyes.

So to me do these appeal; So they sway me every hour: Letting all their beauty steal On my soul to make it feel Through a rivulet or flower, More than any words reveal.