IT is the time when, by the forest falls, The touch-me-nots hang fairy folly-caps; When ferns and flowers fill the lichened laps Of rocks with colour, rich as orient shawls: And in my heart I hear a voice that calls Me woodward, where the Hamadryad wraps Her limbs in bark, and, bubbling in the saps, Sings the sweet Greek of Pan's old madrigals: There is a gleam that lures me up the stream -- A Naiad swimming with wet limbs of light? Perfume that leads me on from dream to dream -- An Oread's footprints fragrant with her flight? And, lo! meseems I am a Faun again, Part of the myths that I pursue in vain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STORY OF THE END OF THE STORY by JAMES GALVIN THE SCARECROW by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE MOURNER A LA MODE by JOHN GODFREY SAXE BEFORE PARTING by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE DEATH'S VALLEY by WALT WHITMAN THE IDEAL by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE VANISHED MOUNTAINS by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE DEAN OF FACULTY by ROBERT BURNS A LANCASHIRE DIALOGUE, OCCASIONED BY A PREACHER WITHOUT NOTES by JOHN BYROM |