I lay close down beside the river,
My bow well strung, well filled my quiver,
The god that dwells among the reeds
Sang sweetly from their tangled bredes;
The soft-tongued water murmured low,
Swinging the flag-leaves to and fro.
Beyond the river, fold on fold,
The hills gleamed through a film of gold;
The feathery osiers waved and shone
Like silver threads in tangles blown.
A bird, fire-winged, with ruby throat,
Down the slow, drowsy wind did float,
And drift and flit and stay along,
A very focal flame of song.
A white sand-isle amid the stream
Lay sleeping by its shoals of bream;
In lilied pools, alert and calm,
Great bass through lucent circles swam;
And farther, by a rushy brink,
A shadowy fawn stole down to drink,
Where tall, thin birds unbalanced stood
In sandy shallows of the flood.
And what did I beside the river,
With bow well-strung and well-filled quiver?
I lay quite still with half-closed eyes,
Lapped in a dream of Paradise,
Until I heard a bow-cord ring,
And from the reeds an arrow sing.
I knew not of my brother's luck,
If well or ill his shaft had struck;
But something in his merry shout
Put my sweet summer dream to rout,
And up I sprang, with bow half-drawn,
And keen desire to slay the fawn.
But where was it? Gone like my dream.
I only heard the fish-hawk scream,
And the strong stripëd bass leap up
Beside the lily's floating cup;
I only felt the cool wind go
Across my face with steady flow;
I only saw those thin birds stand
Unbalanced on the river sand,
Low peering at some dappled thing
In the green rushes quivering.