On this little pool where the sun-beams lie,
This tawny gold ring where the shadows die
God doth enamel the blue of His sky.
Through the scented dark when the night wind sighs
He mirrors His stars where the ripples rise
Till they glitter like prisoned fireflies.
‘ Tis here that the beryl-green leaves uncurl,
And here the lilies uplift and unfurl
Their golden-lined goblets of carven pearl.
When the grey of the eastern sky turns pink,
Through the silver sedge at the pool's low brink
The little lone field-mouse creeps down to drink.
And creatures to whom only God is kind,
The loveless small things, the slow, and the blind,
Soft steal through the rushes, and comfort find.
Oh, restless the river, restless the sea,
Where the great ships go and the dead men be;
The Lily-pond giveth but peace to me.