  Hid in the virgin wilderness, The fretted Conway's Fairy Glen This summer day reveals its charms For painter's brush or poet's pen. The air is flecked with night and day, The ground is tiger-dusk and -gold, The rocks and trees, empearled in haze, A soft and far enchantment hold. The place is peopled with shy winds Whose fitful plumes waft dewy balm From all the wildwood, and let fall An incommunicable calm. Through cleft rocks green with spray-wet moss, Deep in the sweet wood's golden glooms, The amber waters pulsing go, With foam like creamy lily blooms. Shuttles of shadow and of light In-gleam and -gloom the watery woof As rolls the endless stream away Beneath the wind-swayed leafy roof. (So life's swift shuttles dart and play, As ceaseless speeds its flashing loom; Our day is woven of sun and cloud, A figured web of gold and gloom.) God's arbor, this enchanted Glen! The air is sentient with His name; Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, The trees are bursting into flame! |
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