  "She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs;" I'm Wanda born Of the mirthful morn So I heard the red-buds whisper To the forest beech, Tho I know that each Is but a gossipy lisper. I taunt the brook With his hair outshook O'er the weir so cool and mossy, As he peers below With a caw that's vain and saucy. Where the wahoo reds And the sumac spreads Tall plumes o'er the purple privet, I beg a kiss Of the wind, tho I wis Right well he never will give it. I hide in the nook And sunbeams look For me everywhere, like fairies. Then out I glide By the gray deer's side— Ha, ha, but he never tarries! Then I fright the hare From his turfy lair And after him send a volley Of song that stops Him under the copse In wonderment at my folly. And Autumn cries "Be sad!" or sighs Thro her nun lips palely pouting. But then I leap To the woods and keep It wild with gleeing and shouting. And when the sun Has almost spun A path to his far Golconda, I climb the hill And listen, still, While he calls me—"Wanda! Wanda!" And then I go To the valley—Oh, My dreams are sweeter than dreaming! All night I play Over lands of Fay, In delight that seems not seeming. |
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