A black and glassy float, opaque and still,
The loch, at farthest ebb supine in sleep,
Reversing, mirrored in its luminous deep,
The quiet skies; the solemn spurs of hill,
Brown heather, yellow corn, gray wisps of haze;
The white low cots, black-windowed, plumed with smoke;
The trees beyond. And when the ripple awoke,
They wavered with the jarred and wavering glaze.
The air was dim and dreamy. Evermore
A sound of hidden waters whispered near.
A straggler crow cawed high and thin. A bird
Chirped from the birch-leaves. Round the shingled shore,
Yellow with weed, came wandering, vague and clear,
Mysterious vowels and gutturals, idly heard.
