The Evening Rise

Litten with lots and lots of little moons, 
Broods o'er the bosky bank the guelder-rose; 
She watches by the river as it goes, 
Knowing its whispered secrets and its runes, 
And that it's useless in these afternoons 
Of midsummer; I hardly do suppose 
A trout had stirred just then for all our throws 
And feathered lures begirt of silk cocoons. 

But now hath come the coolth and kindliness 
Of eve, and we may get to work again; 
See, there's a bulge, and there a fish came up, 
And we anon shall levy toll and cess — 
A brace mayhap; and still before the train 
Have time for supper and a cider-cup!