A wood-nymph scooped to drink
At a sky-dear pool.
A-kneeling on the brink
She saw, the little fool,
Her image in the pool.

Tracing with the edge
of chance-found leaf she leant,
Bending aside the sedge
In low-toned merriment
To draw her as she leant.

Her murmurous laughter died.
She cast the leaf away
She pushed her hair aside.
Gray eyes approached to gray,
Nor turned their gaze away.

Soft breath on ripples spent,
Lips touched the water there.
With mazed eyes she went,
Filled with strange discontent,
From image mirrored there.

— M.S.