AUGUST EVE
Somewhere, beyond the fields whose smoke-grey slopes are haunted
By timid ghosts of spring; the wild carrots' lacy clusters
Thick among the mistlike drift and swirl of the asters
Lavender-petalled
By timid ghosts of spring; the wild carrots' lacy clusters
Thick among the mistlike drift and swirl of the asters
Lavender-petalled
Somewhere beyond the hill that rounds itself on the skyline
With a curve as sweet as that of a dryad's shoulder,
Farther—beyond the wood all black and mystic and silent,
Somewhere, my dearest
With a curve as sweet as that of a dryad's shoulder,
Farther—beyond the wood all black and mystic and silent,
Somewhere, my dearest
Lies the lake we know, with its deep, moon-haunted waters,
Never a dusk-winged moth to trouble the lucid shadows,
Never a wind to start the lisping speech of the rushes
Sleepless and eager.
Never a dusk-winged moth to trouble the lucid shadows,
Never a wind to start the lisping speech of the rushes
Sleepless and eager.
Yet, since you are not here, my soul of spring and autumn,
I shall not dare the soft, dark embrace of the wood-nymphs,
Nor shall I seek the lake, but leave its lilies floating
Still in the starlight.
I shall not dare the soft, dark embrace of the wood-nymphs,
Nor shall I seek the lake, but leave its lilies floating
Still in the starlight.