Classic Poem

Bewitched by the sun's basilisk eye,
As it blazes on through brazen days,
The rivers sing no more:
Their shining souls are sucked up,
They dwindle and vanish:
No more do they flaunt upon proud bosoms
Golden brooches of sunset,
And necklaces strung with stars;
Desolate are the deserted water-courses,
Dismal and silent—places of stones,
Even the reeds and the rushes
Along their sun-baked banks
Decay and die.