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.