The blue heron By Bliss Carman I see the great blue heron Rising among the reeds And floating down the wind, Like a gliding sail With the set of the stream. I hear the two-horse mower Clacking among the hay, In the heat of a July noon, And the driver's voice As he turns his team. I see the meadow lilies Flecked with their darker tan, The elms, and the great white clouds; And all the world Is a passing dream.