The air is full of a witchery, silent, unfelt, and unseen; Yet it touches the black pine woods, and they flash to a riot of green; It breathes on the diffident birches, and lo! they are dancing in white, And it paints on the slopes of the barren fields a picture of delight. I do not know what the magic is, but I think I have seen the same In a quiet life, a transparent life, and the world knows not her name; But, herself unnoted, a touch, a breath, where the sad and the sullen were, And the dark is light, and the gloom is bright, at the very thought of her. I do not know what the magic is that dwells in her quickening face, No book have I to the witchery that wraps her around with grace; But this I know, be it mirth or woe, where her blessed feet have trod, There widens out in the hearts of men the beautiful peace of God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE EXPOSED NEST by ROBERT FROST KATHLEEN MAVOURNEEN by JULIA CRAWFORD A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 31 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN DRAKE'S DRUM by HENRY JOHN NEWBOLT ON THE DESERTED VILLAGE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE POET'S TEAR by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON MY EPITAPH by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |