The Ponds

The ponds are ours, for the green leaves weep,
Across their sunset façade,
The swans behind, like quilted dreams,
With wonder spread above a glassy lake.
O, cool and quiet moments after,
Where sighs are stirred and reeds stand clear;
Ah! the ponds of beauty and of grace,
Dare I speak them so near—we have known!

I strolled by evening where the water lies—
The shadows play at dusk in their space
Where water-lilies sweep their lovely mats,
Murmurs often give them gentle grace.
And with moonlight softly tracing,
Those tremors twinkling on the lake
The melodies of echoes sighing here—
We have made the airs awake!

• Sarah Orne Jewett