Smooth it glides upon its travel, 
Here a wimple, there a gleam-- 
O the clean gravel! 
O the smooth stream! 

Sailing blossoms, silver fishes, 
Pave pools as clear as air-- 
How a child wishes 
To live down there! 

We can see our colored faces 
Floating on the shaken pool 
Down in cool places, 
Dim and very cool; 

Till a wind or water wrinkle, 
Dipping marten, plumping trout, 
Spreads in a twinkle 
And blots all out. 

See the rings pursue each other; 
All below grows black as night, 
Just as if mother 
Had blown out the light! 

Patience, children, just a minute-- 
See the spreading circles die; 
The stream and all in it 
Will clear by-and-by.