Emilia Stuart Lorimer

FISH of the flood, on the bankèd billow

Thou layest thy head in dreams;

Sliding as slides thy shifting pillow,

One with the streams

Of the sea is thy spirit.

Gean-tree, thou spreadest thy foaming flourish

Abroad in the sky so grey;

It not heeding if it thee nourish,

Thou dost obey,

Happy, its moving.

So, God, thy love it not needeth me,

Only thy life, that I blessèd be.