In lonely thickets where the wood is deep The sickles of thin gold weave to and fro, Among the boughs of ghostly mistletoe Beneath a night of whispering leaves they reap; And with the waning moon the Druids creep From knoll and hollow noiseless as the snow, Their white bulls pace about the pool and low Through mists of magic while walled cities sleep. But when the wakened forest moves and gleams, They vanish at the singing of a bird And Ninian leaves his hidden resting-place; Still with the winged angel of his dreams Down empty groves he leads his savage herd, The light of dawn on his uplifted face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY by ROBERT AYTON NEW YEAR'S EVE by THOMAS HARDY ROBERT BROWNING by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR ODES III, 29 by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS THE DARK HILLS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON AMERICA by SAMUEL FRANCIS SMITH |