Outer And Inner

I From twig to twig the spider weaves At noon his webbing fine. So near to mute the zephyrs flute That only leaflets dance. The sun draws out of hazel leaves A smell of woodland wine. I wake a swarm to sudden storm At any step's advance. II Along my path is bugloss blue, The star with fruit in moss; The foxgloves drop from throat to top A daily lesser bell. The blackest shadow, nurse of dew, Has orange skeins across; And keenly red is one thin thread That flashing seems to swell. III My world I note ere fancy comes, Minutest hushed observe: What busy bits of motioned wits Through antlered mosswork strive. But now so low the stillness hums, My springs of seeing swerve, For half a wink to thrill and think The woods with nymphs alive. IV I neighbour the invisible So close that my consent Is only asked for spirits masked To leap from trees and flowers. And this because with them I dwell In thought, while calmly bent To read the lines dear Earth designs Shall speak her life on ours. V Accept, she says; it is not hard In woods; but she in towns Repeats, accept; and have we wept, And have we quailed with fears, Or shrunk with horrors, sure reward We have whom knowledge crowns; Who see in mould the rose unfold, The soul through blood and tears.