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Softly the water ripples Against the canoes curving side, Softly the birch trees rustle Flinging over us branches wide. Softly the moon glints and glistens As the water takes and leaves, Like golden ears of corn Which fall from loose-bound sheaves, Or like the snow-white petals Which drop from an overblown rose, When Summer ripens to Autumn And the freighted year must close. From the shore come the scents of a garden, And between a gap in the trees A proud white statue glimmers In cold, disdainful ease. The child of a southern people, The thought of an alien race, What does she in this pale, northern garden, How reconcile it with her grace? But the moon in her wayward beauty Is ever and always the same, As lovely as when upon Latmos She watched till Endymion came. Through the water the moon writes her legends In light, on the smooth, wet sand; They endure for a moment, and vanish, And no one may understand. All round us the secret of Nature | 
