Lac Deschene

O pretty, shallow, mimic lake!
Hedged in by rushes and wild rice,
Why is it that the wind can wake
And make you angry in a trice?
You were so peaceful and so still
Before the wind crept round the hill!

The roystering, mischievous wind
That stooped and kissed you as you lay
In sunshine steeped--all bland and kind--
Then racing, went away--away
To stir the languor of the wood,
And make its mutterings understood.

And you, O pretty, shallow lake,
Must needs get ruffled and perplexed!
He kissed and fled, now wide-awake
You are at once, and cross, and vexed;
Lift your soft arms and let them fall--
There is no stillness now at all.

I think the pain of it is not
That it crept down to wake and kiss,
And give attentions all unsought,
I think the pain of it is this:
On your warm breast it did not stay,
It kissed, and then raced far away.

You are so jealous you must cry
And toss about in much unrest--
The rushes bend, the white gulls fly--
In this wild mood I like you best.
You were too peaceful, and too still
Before the wind crept round the hill.