So many of Wharton’s poems are called “song.” Musicality in verse was important to her, as we can hear in this pastoral fantasy.
How golden-clear the sunlight shines
Through the long stretch of river-reeds.
The water whirls in splintering lines
As round the knotted thorn it speeds,
Then lapses to a tranquil pool,
Where water-spiders spin and sleep,
And yellow flower-de-luces cool
Their roots in shadowy moisture deep.
How still it is, how warm and still!
The wood is full of myriad noises
From tiny insect-throats that fill
The noonday heat with quivering voices—
How sweet it is to lie and dream,
Deep, deep, in stream-fed reeds and grass,
And see along the gliding stream
The gliding sunlight pause and pass!