Robert Louis Stevenson

A Child's Garden of Verses. 35. Looking-glass River

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

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

We can see our colored 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.