I AM sailing to the leeward, <br />Where the current runs to seaward <br /> Soft and slow, <br />Where the sleeping river grasses <br />Brush my paddle as it passes <br /> To and fro. <br /> <br />On the shore the heat is shaking <br />All the golden sands awaking <br /> In the cove; <br />And the quaint sandpiper, winging <br />O'er the shallows, ceases singing <br /> When I move. <br /> <br />On the water's idle pillow <br />Sleeps the overhanging willow, <br /> Green and cool; <br />Where the rushes lift their burnished <br />Oval heads from out the tarnished <br /> Emerald pool. <br /> <br /> <br />Where the very silence slumbers, <br />Water lilies grow in numbers, <br /> Pure and pale; <br />All the morning they have rested, <br />Amber crowned, and pearly crested, <br /> Fair and frail. <br /> <br />Here, impossible romances, <br />Indefinable sweet fancies, <br /> Cluster round; <br />But they do not mar the sweetness <br />Of this still September fleetness <br /> With a sound. <br /> <br />I can scarce discern the meeting <br />Of the shore and stream retreating, <br /> So remote; <br />For the laggard river, dozing, <br />Only wakes from its reposing <br /> Where I float. <br /> <br />Where the river mists are rising, <br />All the foliage baptizing <br /> With their spray; <br />There the sun gleams far and faintly, <br />With a shadow soft and saintly, <br /> In its ray. <br /> <br />And the perfume of some burning <br />Far-off brushwood, ever turning <br /> To exhale <br />All its smoky fragrance dying, <br />In the arms of evening lying, <br /> Where I sail. <br /> <br />My canoe is growing lazy, <br />In the atmosphere so hazy, <br /> While I dream; <br />Half in slumber I am guiding, <br />Eastward indistinctly gliding <br /> Down the stream.<br /><br />E. Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake)<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-shadows-20/
