(To W. M. C.)

In curtain of the hazel wood, From sunset to the clear-of-star, An hour or more I feared, but stood-- My lover’s road was far.

Until within the ferny brake Stirred patter feet and silver talk That set all horror wide awake-- I fear the fairy folk ...

That bind with chains and change a maid From happy smiling to a thing Better in ground unhallowed laid Where holy bells not ring.

And whether late he came or soon I know not, through a rush of air Along the white road under the moon I sped, till the golden square

Showed of the blind lamplighted; then, My hand on heart, I slackened, stood ... Though Robin be the man of men, I’ll walk no more that wood.