University of Virginia Library


96

III
A WOODLAND STREAM, II

How in this nook the ancient creed comes near,
And seems to keep its right untarnished still!
If there be guardian sprites of wood and rill,
I think a simple faith would see them here;
A faith that watched the darkly rolling year
Through days of death and sleeping-times, until
The constant months their slow sad round fulfil
To wake the spring-god from his wintry bier.
Adonis! Ah, it is not all profane—
This modern earth. Come forth, ye choral band!
Your Lady bends to kiss the lips again,
The opening lips. 'Tis meet ye were at hand.
So ran the song through April wind and rain;
And, lo, the glad fruition where I stand!