My soul goes out to her who says, “Come, follow me and cast off care!” Then tosses back her sun-bright hair, And like a flower before me sways
Between the green leaves and my gaze: This creature like a girl, who smiles Into my eyes and softly lays Her hand in mine and leads me miles,
Long miles of haunted forest ways. Sometimes she seems a faint perfume, A fragrance that a flower exhaled And God gave form to; now, unveiled,
A sunbeam making gold the gloom Of vines that roof some woodland room Of boughs; and now the silvery sound Of streams her presence doth assume —
Music, from which, in dreaming drowned, A crystal shape she seems to bloom. Sometimes she seems the light that lies On foam of waters where the fern
Shimmers and drips; now, at some turn Of woodland, bright against the skies, She seems the rainbowed mist that flies; And now the mossy fire that breaks
Beneath the feet in azure eyes Of flowers; now the wind that shakes Pale petals from the bough that sighs. Sometimes she lures me with a song;
Sometimes she guides me with a laugh; Her white hand is a magic staff, Her look a spell to lead me long: Though she be weak and I be strong,
She needs but shake her happy hair, But glance her eyes, and, right or wrong, My soul must follow — anywhere She wills — far from the world's loud throng.
Sometimes I think that she must be No part of earth, but merely this — The fair, elusive thing we miss In Nature, that we dream we see
Yet never see: that goldenly Beckons; that, limbed with rose and pearl, The Greek made a divinity:— A nymph, a god, a glimmering girl,
That haunts the forest's mystery.
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