In lonely thickets where the wood is deep The sickles of thin gold weave to and fro, Among the boughs of ghostly mistletoe Beneath a night of whispering leaves they reap; And with the waning moon the Druids creep From knoll and hollow noiseless as the snow, Their white bulls pace about the pool and low Through mists of magic while walled cities sleep. But when the wakened forest moves and gleams, They vanish at the singing of a bird And Ninian leaves his hidden resting-place; Still with the winged angel of his dreams Down empty groves he leads his savage herd, The light of dawn on his uplifted face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE FALL by HAYDEN CARRUTH SIMON SURNAMED PETER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE DOG by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES TO DOCTOR EMPIRIC by BEN JONSON ELEGIAC STANZAS by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH PERSISTENCY OF POETRY by MATTHEW ARNOLD ON THE AMOROUS AND PATHETIC STORY OF ARCADIUS AND SEPHA by L. B. |