Classic Poem

This is the wood my holy angel-child
Made joyous with her song, that day in Spring;
These are the flowers her touch was gladdening
While here she dreamed apart, and dreaming smiled;

This is the little woodland meadow wild
Whose green young life seemed neath her feet to spring
As step by step she wandered, pillaging
Flowers sweet as she was, fresh and undefiled.

This is the spot where first I saw her smile
With eyes that rapt my soul away the while;
Here I have seen her weep, there heard her sing,

'Twas here I saw her dance, there sit aloof. . . .
Of such vague thoughts, with shuttle wandering,
Love weaves my web of life, both warp and woof.