The Word In The Wood

The acorn-oak Sullens to sombre crimson all its leaves; And where it hugely heaves A giant head dark as congested blood, The gum-tree towers, against the sky a stroke Of purpling gold; and every blur of wood Is color on the pallet that she drops, The Autumn, dreaming on the hazed hilltops. II. And as I went Through golden forests in a golden land, Where Magic waved her wand And dimmed the air with dreams my boyhood knew, Enchantment met me; and again she bent Her face to mine, and smiled with eyes of blue, And kissed me on the mouth and bade me heed Old tales again from books no man may read. III. And at her word The wood became transfigured; and, behold! With hair of wavy gold A presence walked there; and its beauty was The beauty not of Earth: and then I heard Within my heart vague voices, murmurous And multitudinous as leaves that sow The firmament when winds of autumn blow. IV. And I perceived The voices were but one voice made of sighs, That sorrowed in this wise: 'I am the child-soul that grew up and died, The child-soul of the world that once believed, Believed in me, but long ago denied; The Faery Faith it needs no more to-day, The folk-lore Beauty long since passed away.'