I can almost follow the note
where it touched this slender tree
and the next answered—
and the next.
And you climbed yet further!
you stopped by the dwarf-cornel—
whirled on your heels,
doubled on your track.
This is clear—
you fell on the downward slope,
you dragged a bruised thigh—you limped—
you clutched this larch.
Did your head, bent back,
search further—
clear through the green leaf-moss
of the larch branches?
Did you clutch,
stammer with short breath and gasp:
wood-daemons grant life—
give life—I am almost lost.
For some wood-daemon
has lightened your steps.
I can find no trace of you
in the larch-cones and the underbrush.