So deep this sylvan silence, strange and sweet, Its dryad-guardian, virginal Peace, can hear The pulses of her own pure bosom beat; And her low voice echoed by elfin rills, And far-off forest fountains, sparkling clear 'Mid haunted hollows of the hoary hills; No breeze, nor wraith of any breeze that blows, Stirs the charmed calm; not even yon gossamer-chain, Dew-born, and swung 'twixt violet and wild rose, Thrills to the airy elements' subtlest breath; Such marvellous stillness almost broods like pain O'er the hushed sense, holding dim hints of death! What shadows of sound survive, the waves' far sigh, Drowsed cricket's chirp, or mock-bird's croon in sleep, But touch this sacred, soft tranquillity To yet diviner quiet: the fair land Breathes like an infant lulled from deep to deep Of dreamless rest, on some wave-whispering strand! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUPER FLUMINA BABYLONIS by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE WINTER TREE by WALTER R. ADAMS BRITANNIA TO COLUMBIA by ALFRED AUSTIN NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 25 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT EMILE ZOLA by MARJORIE W. BRACHLOW A SONG FOR THE RAGGED SCHOOLS OF LONDON; WRITTEN IN ROME by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING BALLAD TO THE TUNE OF 'FRANCKLIN'S IS FLED AWAY' by PATRICK CAREY |