MAIDENHAIR

by: Edgar Fawcett (1847-1904)

HEN deep in some dim glade we pause,

Perchance we mark how winds caress

These lowly sprays of quivering gauze,

Aerial in their slenderness.

 

The ruffled leaves of vapory green

Fringe mimic branches, fine as thread,

Above slim stems whose ebon sheen

Is always mellowing into red.

 

Near trees or bushes hardier born,

They group as fragile, where you pass,

As though in shreds a mist of morn

Yet lingered on the balmy grass.

 

Ah, shadowy ferns, in such frail ways

Your lightsome, fiexuous throngs are wrought,

I half am tempted, while I gaze,

To question of my wondering thought

 

If silvery whispers of the breeze

Have found, as through the woods they went,

In your phantasmal delicacies

Ethereal embodiment!

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