Dryaas
The Dryads dwell in Easter woods,
Though mortals may not see them there;
They haunt our rustling solitudes.
And love the solemn valleys where
The bracken mocks their tawny hair.
And where the rushes make a hedge
With flowering lilies round the lake,
They come to shelter in the sedge ;
They dip their shining feet and slake
Their thirst where shallow waters break.
But through the sultry noon their home
Surrounds some smooth old beechen stem.
Behold how thick the empty dome
Is heaped with russet leaves for them.
Where burr or thistle never came!
And there they lie in languid flocks,
A drift of sweetness unespied;
They dream among their tawny locks
Until the welcome eventide
Breathe freshly through the woods outside.
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