A Triton, drowsy as the god of Sleep,
From horn uplifted pours a limpid stream
Athwart whose falling drops the sunbeams gleam
Through waving boughs that span the crystal deep.
From brooding branches bright-eyed nestlings peep,
The merry sylvan choirs are hushed in dream,
And all the voices of the mid-day seem
Within some slumbering warder's wakeless keep.
Into a shadowy, moss-rimmed pool like this,
Musing of dead delight and longed-for bliss,
The while the murmurous water lapped the shore,
Alluring nymphs, with smiles and amorous breath,
Drew the young Hylas down to meet his d**h
Amid the silvery reeds that noon of yore.