Lac Deschene
O PRETTY, shallow, mimic lake!
Hedged in by rushes and wild rice,
Why is it that the wind can wake
And make you angry in a trice?
You were so peaceful and so still
Before the wind crept round the hill!
The roystering, mischievous wind
That stooped and kissed you as you lay
In sunshine steeped—all bland and kind—
Then racing, went away—away
To stir the languor of the wood,
And make its mutterings understood.
And you, O pretty, shallow lake,
Must needs get ruffled and perplexed!
He kissed and fled, now wide-awake
You are at once, and cross, and vexed;
Lift your soft arms and let them fall—
There is no stillness now at all.
I think the pain of it is not
That it crept down to wake and kiss,
And give attentions all unsought,
I think the pain of it is this:
On your warm breast it did not stay,
It kissed, and then raced far away.
You are so jealous you must cry
And toss about in much unrest—
The rushes bend, the white gulls fly—
In this wild mood I like you best.
You were too peaceful, and too still
Before the wind crept round the hill.