Shalt rightly read the truth which lies
Beneath the quaintly-masking guise
Of wild and wizard fancies.
Lo! once again our feet we set
On still green wood-paths, twilight wet,
By lonely brooks, whose waters fret
The roots of spectral beeches;
Again the hearth fire glimmers o'er
Home's whitewashed wall and painted floor
And young eyes widening to the lore