 | Romance and revery |  |
156
TRANSFORMATION.
Once in an English woodland, where awokeBreezes that made the dark leaves pulse and shine,
I walked at twilight, willing to invoke
All moods of revery, mirthful or malign,
When gradually on my vision broke
A mighty and moss-hung tree that lay supine,
Levelled by some dead tempest's cruel stroke,
And clasped by coils of ivy serpentine. ...
If truth now tricked herself in fancy's cloak,
If some brief elfin madness now was mine,
Or yet if actual voices faintly spoke,
Wandering the dusk, there stays no certain sign;
But “I was Merlin,” said the bearded oak,
And “I was Vivien,” said the snaky vine.
| Romance and revery | |