WHERE are ye now, O beautiful girls of the mountain, Oreads all? Nothing at all stirs here save the drip of the fountain; Answers our call Only the heart-glad thrush, in the Vale of Thrushes; Stirs in the brake But the dew-bright ears of the hare in his couch of rushes Listening, awake. Flashes awhile the fin of a trout in the waters Silver and cool. Where are ye, flowers, maids of the woods, and the daughters Of river and pool? Clad in silver, wrought with roses and pansies, Many a leaf; Lovely your milk-white arms linked in the dances: Gone for our grief. Delicate hands, soft touches out of the twilight, Lighter than wings; Whispering voices heard in the dawn and the shy light; Something that clings Like scented hair blown back on the lightest zephyr. Where are ye gone? Dewy eyes like the eyes of a milk-white heifer, Vanished and flown. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LITTLE WHILE by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR 1914: 5. THE SOLDIER by RUPERT BROOKE BEPPO: A VENETIAN STORY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON FIRE, FAMINE AND SLAUGHTER. A WAR ECLOGUE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE MAXIMS FOR THE OLD HOUSE: THE HEARTH by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |