Ive often gazed with pleasure by the edge
Of the old meadow lake floodwashed and crookd
The water-rat slow rustling in the sedge
The fish-ring wavering in the clear Ive looked
In rapture on the mellow summer shine
Of the still water gleaming in the sun
Just wrinkled by the plash of quiet kine
Who knee-deep in the flags would drink—and done
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