Het is weekend. Stap die rivier over.

Smooth it glides upon its travel,
Here a wimple, there a gleam--
O the clean gravel!
O the smooth stream! 

Sailing blossoms, silver fishes,
Pave pools as clear as air--
How a child wishes
To live down there! 

We can see our colored faces
Floating on the shaken pool
Down in cool places,
Dim and very cool; 

Till a wind or water wrinkle,
Dipping marten, plumping trout,
Spreads in a twinkle
And blots all out. 

See the rings pursue each other;
All below grows black as night,
Just as if mother
Had blown out the light! 

Patience, children, just a minute--
See the spreading circles die;
The stream and all in it
Will clear by-and-by.
Prettig weekend. En be nice.