THE grey-green willow-trees toss and quiver Their dripping boughs in the moonlight pale, Lights dance and die on the shining river, And the shadows darken and shake and shiver, O'er the distant gleam of one far white sail.
Where are you going, you rushing water? Where are you taking our boat to-night?
For the oars are at rest, and the tide has caught her, And through unknown fields has the current brought her; And the banks slip by in the misty light.
And the dreaming river is full of voices Of creatures that whisper and call to me; And I know their speech, and my heart rejoices To hear once more all the woodland noises That the stillness and rest of the night sets free.
And now in the glamour of night and June-time I know that the earth is the earth of yore; Though the desk and the counter may rule the noontimei, They cannot touch us when comes the moontime, The magic endareth for evermore !
And the beauty of life, and the fair earth's glory, And the colour that deepens in wave and sky, And the artist's dream and the poet's story, Will last when our heads grow bent and hoary; Are the real things that can never die.
Though the day's toil sicken and blind our being, And close our eyes that we fear the light, The sun goes down, and our eyelids freeing, We see and know what is worth the seeing, And live again in the summer night.
CLARA GRANT DUFF: