Here are flowers, O my Beloved,
    Here are flowers;
Let us lay our hearts today
    Among the flowers;
Let us not be led astray
By the mirage far away;
    Here is verdure, and in verdure
        Love embowers.

Here are springs, O my beloved.
    Here are springs;
Let us rest and build a nest
    Near the springs;
Let us cease our weary quest
For the mountains of the blest;
    Here is water, and in water
        Blessing sings.

I always was afraid of Somes’s Pond:
Not the little pond, by which the willow stands,
Where laughing boys catch alewives in their hands
In brown, bright shallows; but the one beyond.
There, when the frost makes all the birches burn
Yellow as cow-lilies, and the pale sky shines
Like a polished shell between black spruce and pines,
Some strange thing tracks us, turning where we turn.

You’ll say I dream it, being the true daughter
Of those who in old times endured this dread.
Look! Where the lily-stems are showing red
A silent paddle moves below the water,
A sliding shape has stirred them like a breath;
Tall plumes surmount a painted mask of death.