Did I, just now, unconsciously disturb?

I, who haphazard, wandering at a guess,

Came on this spot, wherein, with gold and flame

Of buds and blooms, the season writes its name.—

[5] 

Ah, me! could I have seen him ere alarm

Of my approach aroused him from his calm!

As he, part Hamadryad and, mayhap,

Part Faun, lay here; who left the shadow warm

As wildwood rose, and filled the air with balm

Of his sweet breath as with ethereal sap.

II

Does not the moss retain some vague impress,

Green dented in, of where he lay or trod?

Do not the flow'rs, so reticent, confess

With conscious looks the contact of a god?

Does not the very water garrulously

Boast the indulgence of a deity?

And, hark! in burly beech and sycamore

How all the birds proclaim it! and the leaves

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