The Lover in the Woods
Gauzy veil of gossamere,
Dew-embroidered, gemmed, and sheer,
Thrown about the woodland ways;
Fabric meet for fairy brides
That the flushed arbutus hides
From the careless seeker's gaze:
Faces shy that smile and peep,
Drowsy from a winter's sleep:
By each timid, dewy eye
That reflects the new-washed sky;
By your bees that suck and fly;
By your time of beauty; say,
Did my lover pass this way?
Thrushes joying in the tree
In a breezy melody;
Squirrel, playing hide and seek
With abandon overbold.
Scolding in coquettish freak,
As sweet, teasing maidens scold;
Grave and reticent cuckoo,
I expect the truth from you;
Trees that peer into the skies;
Ye are old and should be wise;
By your screen of youngest leaves;
By the shadow-dance it weaves;
By your clinging vine-loves, say
Will my lover come to-day?
Mushrooms, toadstools, white and streaked,
Or with blistered venom freaked;
Red and orange, umber-brown;
Clustered like an Indian town;
Round nail-heads of mottled gray;
Scattered in fantastic clumps,
Where small mosses have their way
In the hole of earthy stumps,
Where the vine hath taken root,
And the lichen set her foot;
Owned by fairy-witches, all
Springing at their midnight call,
In the moonlight, or the shade,
Where the magic wand is laid;
By your birth and passing, say,
Will our love so pass away?
Restless streams that sob and fret
Like a child that has been sleeping,
Waking in a peevish pet,
Till beyond your boulders leaping,
And forgetting all your dole
In wild, whirling races, after
All your babbling breaks to laughter.
Then your mossy isles console;
Then your pebble playthings please;
And your dripping ferns appease:—
By your whims and antic wiles;
By your dimples and your smiles;
By your whisperings, unknown,
In a language all your own;
By your songs of gladness, say,
Will my heart be glad to-day?
Wild grape-bowered, hidden dell,
Once the fairest Dryad's home,
Where I long my love to tell
When the happiest hour shall come;
All young hearts of birds that mate;
All young living things elate;
All light dragon-flies that flit
O'er each bloom, caressing it;
All sweet sights and sounds that be
Joined in joyous harmony;
All things glad with loving, say,
Will my Love be mine to-day?
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