The Naiad
The Naiad sings within her well:
“My waves are crystal clear;
My voice is like a tinkling bell;
My banks are never sere.
“I comb my rippling locks of gold,
And then with violets blue
I twine a wreath their braids to hold,
Some fashion, quaint and new.
“Each little blue flower-universe
That nestles in my hair,
Enskies a thousand dewy spheres;
Each sphere, a rainbow fair.
“My grotto in the sweltering noon
Is cool as tongue can tell;
I sing all day my naiad-rune,
And tend my bubbling well.
“And when the sun at eventide
Has loosed his fiery yoke,
I haste to dance in meads unspied
With other fairy folk.”
“My waves are crystal clear;
My voice is like a tinkling bell;
My banks are never sere.
“I comb my rippling locks of gold,
And then with violets blue
I twine a wreath their braids to hold,
Some fashion, quaint and new.
“Each little blue flower-universe
That nestles in my hair,
Enskies a thousand dewy spheres;
Each sphere, a rainbow fair.
“My grotto in the sweltering noon
Is cool as tongue can tell;
I sing all day my naiad-rune,
And tend my bubbling well.
“And when the sun at eventide
Has loosed his fiery yoke,
I haste to dance in meads unspied
With other fairy folk.”
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