Ave, Soror

I left behind the ways of care,

The crowded hurrying hours,

I breathed again the woodland air,

I plucked the woodland flowers:

Bluebells as yet but half awake,

Primroses pale and cool,

Anemones like stars that shake

In a green twilight pool —

On these still lay the enchanted shade,

The magic April sun;

With my own child a child I strayed

And thought the years were one.

As through the copse she went and came

My senses lost their truth;

I called her by the dear dead name

That sweetened all my youth.