A stream of tender gladness,
    Of filmy sun, and opal tinted skies;
    Of warm midsummer air that lightly lies
    In mystic rings,
    Where softly swings
    The music of a thousand wings
    That almost tones to sadness.

    Midway 'twixt earth and heaven,
    A bubble in the pearly air I seem
    To float upon the sapphire floor, a dream
    Of clouds of snow,
    Above, below,
    Drift with my drifting, dim and slow,
    As twilight drifts to even.

    The little fern-leaf, bending
    Upon the brink, its green reflection greets,
    And kisses soft the shadow that it meets
    With touch so fine,
    The border line
    The keenest vision can't define;
    So perfect is the blending.

    The far, fir trees that cover
    The brownish hills with needles green and gold,
    The arching elms o'erhead, vinegrown and old,
    Repictured are
    Beneath me far,
    Where not a ripple moves to mar
    Shades underneath, or over.

    Mine is the undertone;
    The beauty, strength, and power of the land
    Will never stir or bend at my command;
    But all the shade
    Is marred or made,
    If I but dip my paddle blade;
    And it is mine alone.

    O! pathless world of seeming!
    O! pathless life of mine whose deep ideal
    Is more my own than ever was the real.
    For others Fame
    And Love's red flame,
    And yellow gold: I only claim
    The shadows and the dreaming.