Frogs

HERE, in the red heart of the sunset lying,
My rest an islet of brown weeds blown dry,
I watch the wide bright heavens hovering nigh,
My plain and pools in lucent splendours dyeing !
My view dreams, over the rosy wastes, descrying
The reed-tops fret the solitary sky ;
And all the air is tremulous to the cry
Of myriad frogs on mellow pipes replying.
For the unrest of passion, here is peace ;
And eve's cool drench for midday soil and taint !
To tired ears, how sweetly brings release
This limpid babble from life's unstilled complaint ;
While under tired eye-lids, lapse and faint
The noon's derisive visions, — fade and cease !