OUR boat has drifted with the stream <br />That stirs the river's full sweet bosom <br />And now she stays where gold flags gleam <br />By meadow-sweet's pale foam of blossom. <br /> <br /> <br />Sedge-warblers sing the sun the song <br />The nightingale sings to the shadows; <br />Forget-me-nots grow all along <br />The fringes of the happy meadows. <br /> <br /> <br />See the wet lilies' golden beads! <br />The river-nymphs for necklace string them, <br />And in the sighing of the reeds <br />You hear the song their lovers sing them. <br /> <br /> <br />Gold sun, blue air, green shimmering leaves, <br />The weir's old song--the wood's old story-- <br />Such spells the enchanting Summer weaves <br />She holds me in a web of glory. <br /> <br /> <br />And you--with head against my arm <br />And subtle wiles that seek to hold me-- <br />Not even you can add a charm <br />To the sweet sorceries that enfold me. <br /> <br /> <br />Yet lean there still! The hour is ours; <br />If we should move the charm might shiver <br />And joyless sun and scentless flowers <br />Might mock a disenchanted river.<br /><br />Edith Nesbit<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-spell-7/
