LOOKING-GLASS RIVER

Till a wind or water wrinkle,

Dipping marten, plumping trout,
Spreads in a twinkle
And blots all out.

 

See the rings pursue each other;

All below grows black as night,
Just as if mother

Had blown out the light !

Patience, children, just a minute—
See the spreading circles die ;
The stream and all in it
Will clear by-and-by.

 

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