THE way ran under boughs of checkered green Where live things stirred, and sweet lights glinted through, And airs were cool and scented; well I knew It was New England, but this fresh demesne Was full of fabled folk no eye hath seen, Yet every poet's heart must take for true: Dryads and hamadryads, satyrs too, And fountain-nymphs, and trolls of freakish mien. Then, like a flash, the oneness of the world Broke on me; mythland was not here or there, But wheresoe'er shy Fancy had unfurled Her wings, perceiving Nature young and fair; New England spelled but Arcady, the same Unaging beauty by another name. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH by HERMAN MELVILLE SONNET: 1 by CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY THE DEAD CHILD by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) GREAT BRITTAINES SUNNES-SET by WILLIAM BASSE THE TREE ACROSS THE ROAD by ELIZABETH KELTY BEITEL THE WAYFARERS by RUPERT BROOKE |