COME, stand we here within this cactus-brake, And let the leafy tangle cloak us round: It is the spot whereof the Seer spake -- To nymph and faun a nightly trysting-ground. How still the scene! No zephyr stirs to shake The listening air. The trees are slumber-bound In soft repose. There's not a bird awake To witch the silence with a silver sound. Now haply shall the vision trance our eyes, By heedless mortals all too rarely scanned, Of mystic maidens in immortal guise, Who mingle shadowy hand with shadowy hand, And, moving o'er the lilies circle-wise, Beat out with naked feet a saraband. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE WHEEL OF BEING II by HAYDEN CARRUTH TO THE MARTYRED by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO OUR MOCKING-BIRD; DIED OF A CAT, MAY, 1878 by SIDNEY LANIER THE SLAVE TRADE: VIEW FROM THE MIDDLE PASSAGE by CLARENCE MAJOR |