Classic Poem

Not unto the forest — not unto the forest, O my lover!
Why do you lead me to the forest!
Joy is where the temples are
Lines of dancers swinging far
Drums and lyres and viols in the town —
(It is dark in the forest.)
And the flapping leaves will blind me
And the clinging vines will bind me
And the thorny rose-boughs tear my saffron gown —
And I fear the forest.

Not unto the forest — not unto the forest, O my lover!
Long since one led me to the forest. . . .
Hand in hand we wandered mute
Where was neither lyre nor flute
Little stars were bright above the dusk
And the thickets of wild rose
Breathed across our lips locked close
Perfumings of spikenard and musk. . . .
I am tired of the forest.

Not unto the forest — not unto the forest, O my lover!
Take me from the silence of the forest!
I will love you by the light
And the beat of drums at night
And the echoing of laughter in my ears,
But here in the forest
I am still, remembering
A forgotten, useless thing,
And my eyelids are locked down for fear of tears. . . .
There is memory in the forest.