Far above us where a jay <br />Screams his matins to the day, <br />Capped with gold and amethyst, <br />Like a vapour from the forge <br />Of a giant somewhere hid, <br />Out of hearing of the clang <br />Of his hammer, skirts of mist <br />Slowly up the wooden gorge <br />Lift and hang. <br /> <br />Softly as a cloud we go, <br />Sky above and sky below, <br />Down the river, and the dip <br />Of the paddles scarcely breaks, <br />With the little silvery drip <br />Of the water as it shakes <br />From the blades, the crystal deep <br />Of the silence of the morn, <br />Of the forest yet asleep; <br />And the river reaches borne <br />In a mirror, purple grey, <br />Sheer away <br />To the misty line of light, <br />Where the forest and the stream <br />In a shadow meet and plight, <br />Like a dream. <br /> <br />From amid a stretch of reeds, <br />Where the lazy river sucks <br />All the water as it bleeds <br />From a little curling creek, <br />And the muskrats peer and sneak <br />In around the sunken wrecks <br />Of a tree that swept the skies <br />Long ago, <br />On a sudden seven ducks <br />With a splashy rustle rise, <br />Stretching out their seven necks, <br />One before, and two behind, <br />And the others all arow, <br />And as steady as the wind <br />With a snivelling whistle go, <br />Through the purple shadow led, <br />Till we only hear their whir <br />In behind a rocky spur, <br />Just ahead.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/morning-on-the-lievres/
