THE WOOD GOD
I
What deity for dozing Laziness
Devised the lounging leafiness of this
Secluded nook?—And how!—did I distress
His musing ease that fled but now? or his
Communion with some forest-sister, fair
And shy as is the whippoorwill-flower there,
Did I disturb?—Still is the wild moss warm
And fragrant with late pressure,—as the palm
Of some hot Hamadryad, who, a-nap,
Props her hale cheek upon it, while her arm
Is wildflower-buried; in her hair the balm
Of a whole spring of blossoms and of sap.—
II
See, how the dented moss, that pads the hump
Of these distorted roots, elastic springs
From that god's late reclining! Lump by lump
Its points, impressed, rise in resilient rings,
As stars crowd, qualming through gray evening skies.—
Invisible presence, still I feel thy eyes
Regarding me, bringing dim dreams before
My half-closed gaze, here where great, green-veined leaves
Reach, waving at me, their innumerable hands,
Stretched towards this water where the sycamore
Stands burly guard; where every ripple weaves
A ceaseless, wavy quivering as of bands
III
Of elfin chivalry, that, helmed with gold,
Invisible march, making a twinkling sound.—
What brought thee here?—this wind, that steals the old
Gray legends from the forests and around
Whispers them now? Or, in those purple weeds
The hermit brook so busy with his beads?—
Lulling the silence with his prayers all day,
Droning soft Aves on his rosary
Of bubbles.—Or, that butterfly didst mark
On yon hag-taper, towering by the way,
A witch's yellow torch?—Or didst, like me,
Watch, drifting by, these curled, brown bits of bark?
IV
Or con the slender gold of this dim, still
Unmoving minnow 'neath these twisted roots,
Thrust o'er the smoky topaz of this rill?—
Or, in this sunlight, did those insect flutes,
Sleepy with summer, drowsily forlorn,
Remind thee of Tithonos and the Morn?
Until thine eyes dropped dew, the dimpled stream
Crinkling with crystal o'er the winking grail?—
Or didst perplex thee with some poet plan
To drug this air with beauty to make dream,—
Presence unseen, still watching in yon vale!—
Me, wildwood-wandered from the haunts of man!
