Long shadows lie across the silent lake,
Gray shadows soft with drowsiness and sleep,
And in cool, waving rushes cradled deep,
Low ripples round my slow boat's prow awake,
The shadows sink into the gathering dark.
Behind, the western sky is all aglow;
Ahead, the shifting shadows come and go,
Slow closing in about my little bark,
Somewhere beyond the dusk the pale stars gleam.
What matter where the slow, deep currents go?
I do not know my course, nor care to know.
Content to lie upon the silent stream,