A Mystery

That sunless day no living shadow swept Across the hills, fleet shadow chasing light, Twin of the sailing cloud: but, mists wool white, Slow-stealing mists, on those heaved shoulders crept, And wrought about the strong hills while they slept In witches' wise, and rapt their forms from sight. Dreams were they; less than dream, the noblest height And farthest; and the chilly woodland wept. A sunless day and sad: yet all the while Within the grave green twilight of the wood, inscrutable, immutable, apart, Hearkening the brook, whose song she understood, The secret birch-tree kept her silver smile, Strange as the peace that gleams at sorrow's heart.