  IN dream I saw Diana pass, Diana as of old, Across the green wood radiantly, attired in green and gold; With spear alert, with eyes afire, as they had seen the sun, And gave its glances back again, with brightness of their own. No human maid is she, I thought, who there so lightly fares Upon her sylvan empery, afar from our pale cares. She passed, and left me to that thought, who felt the sadder then That only once, and not again, she might be seen of men; Though constantly, by lawn and wood, and hanging mountain-side, My restless eye might dare to hunt the huntress in her pride. For fern or foxglove bloom, of her bright grace bereft. And in that taking, in a bed of softest fern I lay, And found no joy of woodcraft left, the livelong summer day; When lo! at eve, a silvery horn, a questing hound, a cry, And swift, Diana came again, and sat her down thereby; And then I saw those radiant eyes were full of perfect rest, And found beneath the goddess there the woman’s softer breast. |
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