For the blue flash and the moments
the young for the old
That is tragedy
And for one beautiful day there was peace.
In the hollow of pine trunks
or when the snow was like sea foam
Twilit sky leaded with elm boughs.
THOU still unravish’d bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape 5
Of deities or mortals, or of both
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?