There lies the path, they say--
Come, away! come, away!
There is a forest, lying 'twixt two streams,
Sung through of birds and haunted of dim dreams;
That in its league-long hand of trunk and leaf
Lifts a green wand that charms away all grief;
Wrought of quaint silence and the stealth of things,
Vague, whispering touches, gleams and twitterings,
Dews and cool shadows--that the mystic soul
Of nature permeates with suave control,
And waves o'er earth to make the sad heart whole.
There lies the road, they say--
Come, away! come, away!
_Meeting in
Summer_
A tranquil bar
Of rosy twilight under dusk's first star.
A glimmering sound
Of whispering waters over grassy ground.
A sun-sweet smell
Of fresh-reaped hay from dewy field and dell.
A lazy breeze
Jostling the ripeness from the apple-trees.
A vibrant cry,
Passing, then gone, of bullbats in the sky.
And faintly now
The katydid upon the shadowy bough.
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