On a Spring-board

The light falls gently from the dormer-panes,
And sleeps upon the water sleeping too, —
Such water as the fond Boeotian knew
When in the liquid fount he view'd the stains
Of his own love-looks. What sweet idlesse reigns
From gleam to gleam, and makes the soul in view
Of long'd-for bliss a longer path pursue,
And still be hoping while she still refrains?

Now see me work a deed exceeding rash!
There sinks my pocket-wealth of hoarded cash
Through the green floor. So did the Samian king,
Blest overmuch, engulph the fateful ring;
But here are no fat fish to bolt and bring
My treasure back from limbo, therefore — splash!