H. W. Stewart

THE DIM-LIT river mirrors skimming swallows

Against the last of sunset’s fading gold,

And twilight shadows brim the waiting hollows

With quiet beauty that no words may hold.

Across my mind—unconjured, undirected—

Travel desires and dreams like mirrored buds.

Vague thought, and visions momently reflected,

Evading all my clumsy nets of words.

I am not indolent, but wherefore try

To net these in a rhyme, only to shiver

The jewels with the mirror? Let them fly

Like phantom swallows on the tranquil river,

And fade as fast—they are more beautiful

Than muddy stirrings on a troubled pool.