In deep green woods there lies a fairy glade
Shut in by tawny hemlocks wild and tall;
Its floor is laid with richest moss, and all
Its round is steeped in most delicious shade.
It is a spot for listening silence made;
Few sounds awake it, save the wild-bird's call,
And winds that murmur round its forest wall,
Like instruments at airy distance played.
'Tis there a still and stolen guest I lie,
And listen to the weird wood-spirits singing;
I hear their bell-like voices floating nigh,
From arches green and dewy dingles springing;
They pass in elfin song and laughter by,
I hear their clear ha! ha! in deep dells ringing.
