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THE THESSALIAN FOUNTAIN.
But here the moss is soft, and when the wind
Has been felt even through the forest screen,—
For round, like guardians to the willows, stand
Oaks large and old, tall firs, dark beach, and elms
Rich with the yellow wealth that April brings,—
A shower of rose-leaves makes it like a bed
Whereon a nymph might sleep, when, with her arm
Shining like snow amid her raven hair,
She dreamt of the sweet song wherewith the faun
Had lulled her, and awakening from her rest
When through the leaves an amorous sunbeam stole
And kissed her eyes; the fountain were a bath
For her to lave her ivory feet, and cool
The crimson beauty of her sleep-warm cheek,
And bind her ruffled curls in the blue mirror
Of the transparent waters. But these days
