The Naiad sings within her well:
“My waves are crystal clear;
My voice is like a tinkling bell;
My banks are never sere.

“I comb my rippling locks of gold,
And then with violets blue
I twine a wreath their braids to hold,
Some fashion, quaint and new.

“Each little blue flower-universe
That nestles in my hair,
Enskies a thousand dewy spheres;
Each sphere, a rainbow fair.

“My grotto in the sweltering noon
Is cool as tongue can tell;
I sing all day my naiad-rune,
And tend my bubbling well.

“And when the sun at eventide
Has loosed his fiery yoke,
I haste to dance in meads unspied
With other fairy folk.”