I think that where those sky-tears placid lay,
That golden evening stars have also lain;
Reflected on the rosy surface, they
Have dreamed a dream, and wandered on again.
So, where the sunset clouds in sorrow crept,
Now rosy shapes through water grasses trail;
And on that bed where gypsy starlight slept,
Is left a rose-colored star-patterned veil.
THE LOST DRYAD.
I am a lost dryad,
Wandering tranced in the lovely blossoming wood,
Following paths where the shy bright berries wait,
Entering glades where the birds have secrets and nests....
I am a lost dryad!
One came who woke me and bade me come forth,
Gladly I stepped from the tree and put out my hand;
Gladly, like children, we hurried forth to the sun,
But our play was only begun ere a bitter Will had hushed it—
I am a lost dryad!
I cannot go back to the Tree—the bark is mended and closed,
I cannot remain in the wood for the flowers are dumb and reproachful;
The birds are afraid to have my eyes on their nests,
The brooks have closed their waters like windows that gleam....
I am a lost dryad!
And so I wander in smiling pride of my state,
Purer than woodland things that will have none of my pureness;
Wiser than human things that do not reck of my wisdom;
Lost in the dream of a thing that was dimly shown me,
Bewildered, though calm, broken and proud like a princess—
I am a lost dryad!
Ye who listen in the trees, O, never come forth
Unless ye have spells to bind the Intruder unto thee.
Unless ye have spells to hold the Enchantment forever,
Stay in your tree prisons—there at least there are weavings
And pleasant sense as of home and things familiar.
I go wandering forever, alien and speechless,
Chance that broke the bark of the tree is formless and vanished;
Now the healed heart of my home no longer opens—
I am a lost dryad!
PATTRAN.
Does the Moon love best
When the trees write fortunes on the West?
When the webs are done,
All the milkweed spun,
And when brown roads up to the blue sky run?