The Spell of the Pool

There’s a crystal-arrowed riffle at the turning of the river, There’s a waterfall where nature teaches school, There’s a bank of swaying alder with each budding twig aquiver⁠— And there’s magic in the murmur of the pool! Can’t you see the cold, blue water as it eddies, sparkles, flashes In the willow-shadowed reaches of the stream, And the ever-widening ripples where the trout, in falling, splashes As the osprey drops his quarry with a scream?