Classic Poem

Slim — Stout

Gathering the water-plants
From the wild luxuriance of spring,
Away in the depth of a wild valley
Anon I see a lovely girl
With the green leaves the peach-trees are loaded,
The breeze blows gently along the stream,
Willows shade the winding path,
Darting orioles collect in groups
Eagerly I press forward
As the reality grows upon me
'Tis the eternal theme
Which, though old, is ever new.