ON A LAKE

By John Drinkwater

Sweet in the rushes

The reed-singers make

A music that hushes

The life of the lake;

The leaves are dumb,

And the tides are still,

And no calls come

From the flocks on the hill.

Forgotten now

Are nightingales,

And on his bough

The linnet fails,—

Midway the mere

My mirrored boat

Shall rest and hear

A slenderer note.

Though, heart, you measure

But one proud rhyme,

You build a treasure

Confounding time —

Sweet in the rushes

The reed-singers make

A music that hushes

The life of the lake.