Classic Poem

I TOOK a day, and sought for him
Through bosky aisles untracked and dim,
Through cultured field and orchard sweet:—
Did I o'ertake his flying feet?

Once, as I crossed a sylvan glade,
My step the green-brier would have stayed,
The violet looked as it would speak,
And the wild-service, white and meek,
Against my face its coolness laid;
And once the dew on blended blade
Turned towards the sun a sparkling eye,
As flushed and eager I sped by.

As I sped by, as I sped by,—
And fervid noon was in the sky,
And sickles rested on the swath,—
One bearded stalk awoke from sloth,
And lightly swayed it to and fro
Till all its fellows swayed arow,
And where no breathèd sound had been
Went bickering whispers fine and thin.

As I ran on, as I ran on,—
Some bows grown bright and some grown wan
And creeping leafy fires widespread,—
All suddenly the hazel shed
Before my feet its umbered mast,
The oak a shower of acorns cast,
The vine swung low its clusters blue,
The star-flower elvish glances threw.

Morn was when I the chase began,
Close on the evening-bound I ran;
And, counting but a rounded day,
Lo! seasons three had slipped away.
An hundred times the clew I missed,
Too rapt to pause, to look, and list,—
An hundred times, unweeting, trod
Straight past the merry masking god.