Edward Cracroft Lefroy (1855–1891)

THE LIGHT falls gently from the dormer-panes,

And sleeps upon the water sleeping too,—

Such water as the fond Boeotian knew

When in the liquid fount he view’d the stains

Of his own love-looks. What sweet idlesse reigns

From gleam to gleam, and makes the soul in view

Of long’d-for bliss a longer path pursue,

And still be hoping while she still refrains?

Now see me work a deed exceeding rash!

There sinks my pocket-wealth of hoarded cash

Through the green floor. So did the Samian king,

Blest overmuch, engulph the fateful ring;

But here are no fat fish to bolt and bring

My treasure back from limbo, therefore—splash!