IV. THE HAMADRYAD

She stood among the longest ferns

The valley held; and in her hand

One blossom, like the light that burns

Vermilion o'er a sunset land;

And round her hair a twisted band

Of pink-pierced mountain-laurel blooms:

And darker than dark pools, that stand

Below the star-communing glooms,

Her eyes beneath her hair's perfumes.

I saw the moonbeam sandals on

Her flowerlike feet, that seemed too chaste

To tread true gold: and, like the dawn

On splendid peaks that lord a waste

Of solitude lost gods have graced,

Her face: she stood there, faultless-hipped,

Bound as with cestused silver,— chased

With acorn-cup and crown, and tipped

With oak leaves,— whence her chiton slipped.

Limbs that the gods call loveliness!—

The grace and glory of all Greece

Wrought in one marble shape were less

Than her perfection!—‘ Mid the trees

I saw her — and time seemed to cease

For me.— And, lo! I lived my old

Greek life again of classic ease,

Barbarian as the myths that rolled

Me back into the Age of Gold.