This side the deeper wood,

Of somber oak and pine,

A dryad sisterhood

Upon the hill’s incline,

In poised expectance stand,

As waiting but the sign,

To dance a saraband!

The oaks and pines, alway,

A darkling mystery hide.

In Lady-Grove, all day,

The cheerful sunbeams glide;

And many a singing brood

In peace and joy abide

With this lov’d sisterhood.

Their raiment fair is wove

Of tender green and white:

Come, Breeze, to Lady-Grove

And put their trance to flight;

For if they once were freed—

My Silver Birches light—

Ah, what a dance they’d lead!