 | Fantasy and Passion |  |
30
FERNS.
If trees are Nature's thoughts or dreams,
And witness how her great heart yearns,
Then she has only shown, it seems,
Her lightest fantasies in ferns.
And witness how her great heart yearns,
Then she has only shown, it seems,
Her lightest fantasies in ferns.
Those low green boughs, what shapely grace,
What slender lissome charm they wear,
Delicate, supple, frail as lace,
And pliant to each passing air!
What slender lissome charm they wear,
Delicate, supple, frail as lace,
And pliant to each passing air!
Though sweet to see when there or here,
Along some common meadowed way,
They throng in feathery jungles, near
Some stolid boulder's bulk of gray,
Along some common meadowed way,
They throng in feathery jungles, near
Some stolid boulder's bulk of gray,
Yet ah! no light their spray so serves
As when, where cloistering branches cross,
I meet its shadowy silvered curves
On spaces of dark moonlit moss!
As when, where cloistering branches cross,
I meet its shadowy silvered curves
On spaces of dark moonlit moss!
For here quick fancy finds a bower
Where she can watch, in pictured wise,
An Oberon squeeze the fatal flower
On poor Titania's drowsing eyes!
Where she can watch, in pictured wise,
An Oberon squeeze the fatal flower
On poor Titania's drowsing eyes!
And nimble fay and pranksome elf
Flash vaguely past at every turn,
Or, weird and wee, sits Puck himself,
With legs akimbo, on a fern!
Flash vaguely past at every turn,
Or, weird and wee, sits Puck himself,
With legs akimbo, on a fern!
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