Poems (Hazlett-Bevis)/The Woodland
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The Woodland.
Oh, woodland dell,
I know thee well,
Thy echoes still do form a part
Of treasures mine,
Around the shrine
Of holy love, that floods my heart.
I know thee well,
Thy echoes still do form a part
Of treasures mine,
Around the shrine
Of holy love, that floods my heart.
Thy leafy bowers
Are decked with flowers,
From which the fairies rob perfume;
And, Oh, how rare
Thy jewels fair,
When dewdrops gild thy heavenly bloom.
Are decked with flowers,
From which the fairies rob perfume;
And, Oh, how rare
Thy jewels fair,
When dewdrops gild thy heavenly bloom.
The breezes play
At will away,
With all thy glories—Nature's gifts;
In frantic haste,
They strew and waste
Thy tinted leaves, and pile in drifts.
At will away,
With all thy glories—Nature's gifts;
In frantic haste,
They strew and waste
Thy tinted leaves, and pile in drifts.
The tiny birds,
In magic words,
Are heard within thy beauteous screen,
And to complete
Thy charms so sweet,
The laughing stream beneath is seen.
In magic words,
Are heard within thy beauteous screen,
And to complete
Thy charms so sweet,
The laughing stream beneath is seen.
An emerald sheen
Is spread between
Thy fragrant earth and one who stands;
Full well I know,
This gem below,
A distant glimpse of fairer lands.
Is spread between
Thy fragrant earth and one who stands;
Full well I know,
This gem below,
A distant glimpse of fairer lands.