 | Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman |  |
188
EPIGÆA.
—“Pink with promises of spring.”
“I wandered lonely as a cloud”
Along the busy, bustling street,
Unmindful of the alien crowd
That passed me by with hurrying feet:
I knew not 't was an April day,
So chill the winds that blew this way.
Along the busy, bustling street,
Unmindful of the alien crowd
That passed me by with hurrying feet:
I knew not 't was an April day,
So chill the winds that blew this way.
When, at a crossing of the flags
A wanderer from the woods I met,
With willow wands and alder tags
And tufts of pink arbutus, wet
With April dews and showers, that fell
Around them in some far-off dell,
And redolent of the rich loam
That fed them in their forest home—
Strange perfume, in whose effluence broods
The wild, sweet spirit of the woods—
Bringing remembrance of old days,
Of spring-time wanderings through a maze
Of mossy, winding, woodland ways,
Or, o'er some brown hill's hoary side
Where the shy May-flower loves to hide.
A wanderer from the woods I met,
With willow wands and alder tags
And tufts of pink arbutus, wet
With April dews and showers, that fell
Around them in some far-off dell,
And redolent of the rich loam
That fed them in their forest home—
Strange perfume, in whose effluence broods
The wild, sweet spirit of the woods—
Bringing remembrance of old days,
189
Of mossy, winding, woodland ways,
Or, o'er some brown hill's hoary side
Where the shy May-flower loves to hide.
Then, with a glinting of surprise
In the cool shadow of his eyes,
The woodman touched me with his wand
And turned the street to Fairy-land!
“Well met,” he cried; “I have a few
Tufts of arbutus. These for you.”
In the cool shadow of his eyes,
The woodman touched me with his wand
And turned the street to Fairy-land!
“Well met,” he cried; “I have a few
Tufts of arbutus. These for you.”
April, 1876.
| Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman | |