The Haunts of the Halcyon
To stand within a gently gliding boat,
Urged by a noiseless paddle at the stern,
Whipping the crystal mirror of the fern
In fairy bays where water-lilies float;
To hear your reel’s whirr echoed by the throat
Of a wild mocking-bird, or round some turn
To chance upon a wood-duck’s brood that churn
Swift passage toward their mother’s warning note,—
This is to rule a realm that nevermore
May aught but restful weariness invade;
This is to live again the old days o’er,
When nymph and dryad haunted stream and glade;
To dream sweet, idle dreams of having strayed
To Arcady, with all its golden lore.