As if some woodland Bacchus there
A-braiding of his yellow hair
Wit'h ivy-to] had idly tost
His thvrsus there, and so had lost.
Low blood root with its pallid bloom,
The red lift of its mother's womb
Through all its ardent pulses fine
Beating in scarlet veins of wine.
And where the knotty eyes of trees
Stare wide. like Fauns' at Dryades
That lave smooth limbs in founts of spar,
Shines mary a wild-flower's tender star.


The scumnmy pond sleeps lazily,
Clid thick with lilies, and the bee
Reels boisterous as a Bassarid
Above the bloated green frog hid
In lush wa 1 calamus and grass,
Beside the water's stagnant glass.
The piebald dragon-fly, like one
A-weary of the world and sun,
Ccmes blir dly blundering along,
A pedagogue, gaunt, lean, and long,
Large-heac ed naturalist with wvise,
Great, glar'ng goggles on his eyes.
And dry aid hot the fragrant mint
Pours grateful odors without stint