WANDA

“She shall be sportive as the fawn

That wild with glee across the lawn

Or up the mountain springs;”

I'm Wanda born

Of the mirthful morn

So I heard the red-buds whisper

To the forest beech,

Tho I know that each

Is but a gossipy lisper.

I taunt the brook

With his hair outshook

O'er the weir so cool and mossy,

And mock the crow

As he peers below

With a caw that's vain and saucy.

Where the wahoo reds

And the sumac spreads

Tall plumes o'er the purple privet,

I beg a kiss

Of the wind, tho I wis

Right well he never will give it.

I hide in the nook

And sunbeams look

For me everywhere, like fairies.

Then out I glide

By the gray deer's side —

Ha, ha, but he never tarries!

Then I fright the hare

From his turfy lair

And after him send a volley

Of song that stops

Him under the copse

In wonderment at my folly.

And Autumn cries

“Be sad!” or sighs

Thro her nun lips palely pouting.

But then I leap

To the woods and keep

It wild with gleeing and shouting.

And when the sun

Has almost spun

A path to his far Golconda,

I climb the hill

And listen, still,

While he calls me — “Wanda! Wanda!”

And then I go

To the valley — Oh,

My dreams are sweeter than dreaming!

All night I play

Over lands of Fay,

In delight that seems not seeming.