Not a flower had been crushed,

Never dewdrop had a stain.

Then an idle way we took

Where the little wandering brook,

Overflowing mossy wells,

Flashing out of twilight shades,

Beckoned us to secret dells,

Led us into fairy glades.

Here the sunlight filtered through

Woven trellises of blue,

Dropping from a sky unseen

Into hollows golden-green.{29}

{29}

Jays, in azure flashes, slid

Out of hollows where they hid;

Golden crested wrens among

Feathery boughs of larches hung;

Gentle winds in dreaming firs

Touched æolian dulcimers;

Dancing shadows fell across

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