They are calling "knee deep! Knee deep!" tonight in the marsh below,
Down by the bank, where the rank swordgrass and calamus grow;
Like an army of silversmiths, forging bells for the northern sprites,
And, keeping time to a rhyme, they work thro' the summer nights.
Steadily up from their swampy forge, the sparks of the fireflies rise
In the pool where the wading lilies make love through half-shut eyes
To the whippoorwill who scolds, like a shrew, at the fluffy owl!
While the nighthawk shuffles by, like a monk in a velvet cowl,
And the bat weaves inky weft, thro' the white starbeams that peep
Down through the cypress boughs, where the frogs all sing "knee deep." I have known a song to lead a falling elderly man like me
Back thro' the gates of the years, to the scenes that used to be,
When the world was fenced from Heaven by one rose hedge, and thro'
This bourne the blessed angels looked, and the asphodel odors blew.
So these syllables of the song, from the singers among the reeds,
Have made me to walk again, knee deep, in the clover meads,
And I see the storm king riding the summer clouds in state,
With his chariot whip of livid flame, and his thunder billingsgate;
And I watch the strong tawny tide, through the flags like a lion creep,
Where the frighted inhabitants cling to the rushes, and sing "knee deep." Knee deep I bend in the rippled creek, with buttercup blooms o'erblown,
Like the gold on beauty's billowy breast, its color half-hid, half-shown;
Knee deep in the saffron marigold flowers, that prank in the meadows fair
Like a procession of Saxon children, blue-eyed and with yellow hair;
Knee deep in the whortleberries, sunbrowned in the sun I stand,
With my torn straw hat half filled, and a quail's nest in my hand;
Knee deep in the topaz chestnut leaves, I rustle toward the place
Where the pert and upright rabbit sits, washing her innocent face.
Song of the quivering culms and osiers! I am wading again in truth,
Knee deep in the stream of Memory that flows from the land of youth.