Читать книгу The Garden of Dreams - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 17

It is the time when, by the forest falls,

The touchmenots hang fairy folly-caps;

When ferns and flowers fill the lichened laps

Of rocks with color, rich as orient shawls:

And in my heart I hear a voice that calls

Me woodward, where the Hamadryad wraps

Her limbs in bark, or, bubbling in the saps,

Laughs the sweet Greek of Pan's old madrigals.

There is a gleam that lures me up the stream —

A Naiad swimming with wet limbs of light?

Perfume, that leads me on from dream to dream —

An Oread's footprints fragrant with her flight?

And, lo! meseems I am a Faun again,

Part of the myths that I pursue in vain.