Wood Fancy, A 35

Among the Trees Again

I saw a meadow-land, one day; The grass stood green and high, But naught appealed in any way To stay the passer-by.

Till suddenly the sunlight strayed Those leafy tangles through, And touched to fire, on every blade A golden network grew!

A million airy cobwebs gleamed So silken-soft and bright, That all the level lowland seemed A tracery of light.

And as I watched the webs, I thought The field of life along, As slight as these, so I have wrought With slender threads of song.

They bind the grass, and blossoms, too, The bee and butterfly, And some go faintly wavering through The tender azure sky.

Yet still I wait that golden glow Whose fine transmuting art Must smite my web of song, and so Reveal it to the heart.

Ah therefore, thou, I pray thee, touch These frail threads I have spun, With grace of sympathy, for such Might light them like the sun!