Crystal parting the meads,
A boat drifted up it like a swan.
Tranquil, dipping his bright front to the waters, A slow swan is gone.
Full waters, O flowing silver,
Clear, level with the clover,
They will stain drowning a star,
With the moon they will brim over.
Running through lands dewy and shorn,
Cattle stoop at its brink,
And every tawny-colored throat
Will sway it`s bells and drink.
I saw a boat sailing the meadows
With a tranced gait. It seemed
Loosed by a spell from its moorings,
Or a thing the helsman dreamed.
And I thought it cold carry no traveller,
For the vessel would go down,
If a heart were heavy-winged,
Or the bosom it dwelt in stone.
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