In Woodland Ways

Out of the poignant glare, the shadeless heat

Of summer noon, beseech thee follow me

Into the dim, dream-haunted secrecy

The cool, green glooms, the grottoed deep retreat,

Of yon old wood; down aisles of lichened trees —

Grey Merlins clasped by lissom Viviens

Of clinging vine — to cloistered sylvan glens,

Where Nature weaves her fairest mysteries.

Here let us rest a little — find surcease

For feet grown weary of the thridded street

That echoes ever to the ceaseless beat

Of human tread;— a brief while know the ease

Of dreamful rest, to slumb'rous languors stilled

On Orient rugs of dappled mosses spread

In nooks where blossom, purple, white and red,

The flowers Summer's lavish hands have spilled.

Wild woodland creatures near us unafraid,

Some strange enchantment doth the forest hold —

Was that a sungleam, or a wand of gold

By tricksy Puck or wanton Ariel swayed?

Old oaks and beeches open wide their doors

And hamadryads veiled in golden sheen

Floating diaphanous o'er robes of green

Walk with still feet the forest's russet floors.

Lo, here are fairies hid in flower-bells,

There wood-nymphs fleeing from pursuing fauns,

And naiads fleshed with hues of rosy dawns

Lie dreaming by white streams in dusky dells;

We tread dim paths untrod by foot of man

And hark the horn of Dian ringing clear;

While faint, elusive, thin — now far, now near,

Meseems I hear the oaten pipe of Pan.

And while o'erhead the plaining wood-dove grieves,

The cardinal — a wingèd, scarlet flower —

Sprays all the air with song, a golden shower

Of flutes-notes sifting downward thro’ the leaves.

Ah, sweet enchantment doth the forest hold,

For Nature's self doth haunt these woodland ways,

My fevered brow on her cool breast she lays

And care slips from me as a garment old.