The Pool

The wind through the summer woods blows cool,
So I walk with quiet pace,
But I stop a little at the pool,
And again I see your face.


Just where the pale primroses peep
Above the dimpling stream,
I see as in some magic sleep
A form to suit my dream.


And bright, and warm, and sweet to view
It grows distinct and fair,
As if the waves were mirrors true
And you were looking there:


All just the same as you stood that day,
When the wind was low and cool,
With your feet on the wild-flowers where they lay,
And your shadow in the pool.


But I could not reach the one wild rose
That in your hand was seen;
For still as thought and act would close,
The pool grew up between.


Ah heart, ah heart, I turn away
From the dreams of my idle brain,
And sigh to think that this summer day
Hath power to bring me pain;


For how many things in my little life
Have offer'd unto me
Their fresh sweet hopes with blossoms rife
As the spring-buds on a tree.


But still as my hand would make display
To gather what was seen,
Like the silent pool by the forest way
A gap grew up between.

by Alexander Anderson

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