Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE LOOSED DRYAD, by WILLIAM ROSE BENET



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THE LOOSED DRYAD, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: From the bole of the oak tree I start! There he bound me
Last Line: Sunrise kindles the east, and the woodland is sleeping!
Subject(s): Dryads


From the bole of the oak tree I start! There he bound me --
The wizard of summer. With the dim woods around me,
From covert to covert fare my feet, bronzely glancing
To the sway and the swing and the lure of my dancing!

How the watching eyes gleam, for the wood-folk awaken!
Now each creeper and vine stem and root weft is shaken
With the mystery of night and the wakened wings starting,
With the fever of meeting, with the sorrow of parting!

From the wood to the hill, from the hill to the meadow,
Through the moonlight we gleam, now in sight, now in shadow;
And our veins run their will and our hearts sing it over --
Velvet night and the stars and the whispering clover!

From the hill to the wood, silent flicker, hushed laughter!
Ah, the surge of the dance and the brown hair blown after!
Now faster, now faster, now higher and higher
Flit the feet, beat the pulses, with autumn afire!

To the bole of the oak.... Ah, beloved, unbind me!
I am lost in the tree where no sunrise may find me.
Fades the night to its light, sinks the passion to weeping.
Sunrise kindles the east, and the woodland is sleeping!





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