In The Nook Of A Wood Where A Pool Freshed With Dew Glassed, Daybreak Till Evening, Blue Sky Glimpsing Through Then A Star; Or A Slip Of May-Moon Silver-White, Thridding Softly Aloof The Quiet Of Night, Was A Thicket Of Flowers. Willow Herb, Mint, Pale Speedwell And Rattle Water Hemlock And Sundew - To The Wind'S Tittle-Tattle They Nodded, Dreamed, Swayed In Jocund Delight, In Beauty And Sweetness Arrayed, Still And Bright. By Turn Scampered Rabbit; Trotted Fox; Bee And Bird Paused Droning, Sang Shrill, And The Fair Water Stirred. Plashed Green Frog, Or Some Brisk Little Flickering Fish - Gudgeon, Stickleback, Minnow - Set The Ripples A-Swish. A Lone Pool, A Pool Grass-Fringed, Crystal-Clear: Deep, Placid, And Cool In The Sweet Of The Year; Edge-Parched When The Sun To The Dog Days Drew Near; And With Winter'S Bleak Rime Hard As Glass, Robed In Snow, The Whole Wild-Wood Sleeping, And Nothing A-Blow But The Wind From The North - Bringing Snow. That Is All. Save That One Long, Sweet, June Night-Tide Straying, The Harsh Hemlock'S Pale Umbelliferous Bloom Tenting Nook, Dense With Fragrance And Secret With Gloom, In A Beaming Of Moon-Colored Light Faintly Raying, On Buds Orbed With Dew Phosphorescently Playing, Came A Stranger - Still-Footed, Feat-Fingered, Clear Face Unhumanly Lovely: ... And Supped In That Place.