Page:The Hundred Best Poems (lyrical) in the English language - second series.djvu/126

 At last methought that I had wander'd far In an old wood: fresh-wash'd in coolest dew The maiden splendours of the morning star Shook in the stedfast blue.

Enormous elm-tree-boles did stoop and lean Upon the dusky brushwood underneath Their broad curved branches, fledged with clearest green, New from its silken sheath.

The dim red morn hath died, her journey done, And with dead lips smiled at the twilight plain, Half-fall'n across the threshold of the sun, Never to rise again.

There was no motion in the dumb dead air, Not any song of bird or sound of rill; Gross darkness of the inner sepulchre Is not so deadly still

As that wide forest.Growths of jasmine turn'd Their humid arms festooning tree to tree, And at the root thro' lush green grasses burn'd The red anemone.

I knew the flowers, I knew the leaves, I knew The tearful glimmer of the languid dawn On those long, rank, dark wood-walks drench'd in dew, Leading from lawn to lawn.

The smell of violets, hidden in the green, Pour'd back into my empty soul and frame 104