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.