Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, CHORUS OF THE DRYADS, by JOHN GODFREY SAXE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

CHORUS OF THE DRYADS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Who are these who come again
Last Line: The secret that she knows so well!
Subject(s): Dryads


FIRST DRYAD.

WHO are these who come again
Strolling in our dark domain?

SECOND DRYAD.

Lovers, if I guess aright;
And I saw them yesternight,
Sitting by yon chestnut-tree;
And I marveled much to see
All I saw; and more to hear
All that fell --

FIRST DRYAD.

Now, tell me, dear,
What it means, -- that wondrous word
Which so oft I plainly heard
(As, unseen, I watched above);
Tell me truly what is "love," --
What of pleasure it may bring,
Since it seemed so sweet a thing;
What therein may lurk of pain,
Since, anon, they sighed again;
What of shame, that with a blush
She, the trembler, whispered, "Hush."
(As assailed with sudden fear.)
"Darling! don't the Dryads hear?"

THIRD DRYAD.

True as truth! It chanced that I,
Sleeping on a branch anigh,
Heard it all; for I awoke
When their words the silence broke
Faith! the lover answered well:
"Sweet! the Dryads never tell!"

FIRST DRYAD.

Pan! I own the matter seems
Queer as aught we see in dreams;
Tell me plainly (older you;
And -- it follows -- wiser too!)
All about it; I would know
What it is can witch them so!

THIRD DRYAD.

Nay, -- I know not. All I learn
These good eyes and ears discern.
For the rest, -- beyond my ken
Are the ways of mortal men;
And for love, -- if it contain
More of pleasure or of pain,
All my wits have brought about
Only this, -- that still I doubt!

SECOND DRYAD.

Strange the awful oaths I heard
Following many a tender word
That from either smoothly slips
Through their seldom-severed lips,
In the little pauses when
They were free to speak again.
Yet I learn from such as you,
(Tell me plainly, is it true?)
That whate'er of bliss it bring,
Love is but a slippery thing;
That, with mortal men and maids,
Kisses fail when beauty fades;
And this Love, with scarce a sigh,
Dies when Youth and Pleasure die!

THIRD DRYAD.

Nay, -- I know not. Well content
With the good the gods have lent
To our higher, happier kind,
Little, sooth! am I inclined
All the miseries to trace
That afflict the human race.
Safe amid our leafy bowers,
Sweetly flow the rosy hours,
While in friendship's calm estate,
Free from love, as free from hate,
Here our happy lives are passed,
Clear of passion --

FOURTH DRYAD.

Not so fast!
I have heard the tale, you see,
Of Pan and wanton Dryope;
And hapless Syrinx, who, indeed,
To 'scape his love became a reed
Most musical of tender woe.
Ah! which of us can surely know
That she is safe? For me, I own
Some homage to this god unknown
Whose wondrous potency controls
Both mortal and immortal souls.
His smile I crave; his frown I fear;
So, be all lovers welcome here!
May fragrant flowers a carpet spread
Whereon their feet may softly tread;
May every tall, majestic tree,
To guard their tryst, a fortress be;
And every nymph that views the scene
Hold in her hand a leafy screen
To form a dense o'erarching roof
The blabbing moon to keep aloof;
And not a Dryad ever tell
The secret that she knows so well!





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