Ave, Soror

I left behind the ways of care, The crowded hurrying hours, I breathed again the woodland air, I plucked the woodland flowers: Bluebells as yet but half awake, Primroses pale and cool, Anemones like stars that shake In a green twilight pool— On these still lay the enchanted shade, The magic April sun; With my own child a child I strayed And thought the years were one. As through the copse she went and came My senses lost their truth; I called her by the dear dead name That sweetened all my youth.