The Wood-God.

Brother, lost brother! Thou of mine ancient kin! Thou of the swift will that no ponderings smother! The dumb life in me fumbles out to the shade Thou lurkest in. In vain—evasive ever through the glade Departing footsteps fail; And only where the grasses have been pressed, Or by snapped twigs I follow a fruitless trail. So—give o'er the quest! Sprawl on the roots and moss! Let the lithe garter squirm across my throat! Let the slow clouds and leaves above me float Into mine eyeballs and across,— Nor think them further! Lo, the marvel! now, Thou whom my soul desireth, even thou Sprawl'st by my side, who fled'st at my pursuit. I hear thy fluting; at my shoulder there I see the sharp ears through the tangled hair, And birds and bunnies at thy music mute.