Back to Index

Looking-glass River

by Robert Louis Stevenson, 1885

Smooth it slides upon its travel,
  Here a wimple, there a gleam—
      O the clean gravel!
      O the smooth stream!

Sailing blossoms, silver fishes,
  Paven pools as clear as air—
      How a child wishes
      To live down there!

We can see our coloured faces
  Floating on the shaken pool
      Down in cool places,
      Dim and very cool;

Till a wind or water wrinkle,
  Dipping marten, plumping trout,
      Spreads in a twinkle
      And blots all out.

See the rings pursue each other;
  All below grows black as night,
      Just as if mother
      Had blown out the light!

Patience, children, just a minute—
  See the spreading circles die;
      The stream and all in it
      Will clear by-and-by.

Published in A Child's Garden of Verses

Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.