But never came there answer to my call.
Their caves lay overgrown and tenantless,
Nor by a sound nor footprint might I guess
What sorrow should befall.
There came a laughter veering down the breeze,
Soft, cruel sounds as from a dryad’s throat.
“Even now they mock you, hid among the trees,
Shaping their signals to the wood bird’s note,
With sly, malicious dance and mirth-brimmed eyes.”
The laughter broke, and, wavering into sighs,