The woods are greening overhead, And flowers adorn each mossy bed; The waters babble as they run— One thing is lacking, only one: If Mary were but here to-day, I would believe your charming lay, “Witchery—witchery—witchery!” Along the shady road I look— Who's coming now across the brook? A woodland maid, all robed in white— The leaves dance round her with delight, The stream laughs out beneath her feet— Sing, merry bird, the charm's complete, “Witchery—witchery—witchery!” Along the shady road I look— Who's coming now across the brook? A woodland maid, all robed in white— The leaves dance round her with delight, The stream laughs out beneath her feet— Sing, merry bird, the charm's complete, “Witchery—witchery—witchery!” 1895. A NOVEMBER DAISY Afterthought of summer's bloom! Late arrival at the feast, Coming when the songs have ceased And the merry guests departed, Leaving but an empty room, Silence, solitude, and gloom,— Are you lonely, heavy-hearted; You, the last of all your kind, Nodding in the autumn-wind; Now that all your friends are flown, Blooming late and all alone? Afterthought of summer's bloom! Late arrival at the feast,
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