SELECTIONS IN ENGLISH POETRY
And scarce allow a narrow stream to pass;
Where spreading crowfoot mars
The drowning nenuphars,	30
Waving the tassels of her silken grass
Below her silver stars.
But in the purple pool there nothing grows,
Not the white water-lily spoked with gold;
Though best she loves the hollows, and well knows	35
On quiet streams her broad shields to unfold :
Yet should her roots but try
Within these deeps to lie,
Not her long reaching stalk could ever hold
Her waxen head so high.	4°
Sometimes an angler comes, and drops his hook
Within its hidden depths, and 'gainst a tree
Leaning his rod, reads in some pleasant book.
Forgetting soon his pride of fishery;
And dreams, or falls asleep,	45
While curious fishes peep
About his nibbled bait, or scornfully
Dart off and rise and leap.
And sometimes a slow figure 'neath the trees,
In ancient-fashioned smock, with tottering care	50
Upon a staff propping his weary knees,
May by the pathway of the forest fare:
As from a buried day
Across the mind will stray
Some perishing mute shadow,—and unaware	55
He passeth on his way.
Else, he that wishes solitude is safe,
Whether he bathe at morning in the stream :
345