Classic Poem

Her talk was all of woodland things,
— Of little lives that pass
Away in one green afternoon,
— Deep in the haunted grass;

For she had come from fairyland,
— The morning of a day
When the world that still was April
— Was turning into May.

Green leaves and silence and two eyes
— 'Twas so she seemed to me,
A silver shadow of the woods,
— Whisper and mystery.

I looked into her woodland eyes,
— And all my heart was hers,
And then I led her by the hand
— Home up my marble stairs;

And all my granite and my gold
— Was hers for her green eyes,
And all my sinful heart was hers
— From sunset to sunrise;

I gave her all delight and ease
— That God had given to me,
I listened to fulfil her dreams,
— Rapt with expectancy.

But all I gave, and all I did,
— Brought but a weary smile
Of gratitude upon her face;
— As though a little while,

She loitered in magnificence
— Of marble and of gold,
And waited to be home again
— When the dull tale was told.

Sometimes, in the chill galleries,
— Unseen, she deemed, unheard,
I found her dancing like a leaf
— And singing like a bird.

So lone a thing I never saw
— In lonely earth or sky,
So merry and so sad a thing,
— One sad, one laughing, eye.

There came a day when on her heart
— A wildwood blossom lay,
And the world that still was April
— Was turning into May.

In the green eyes I saw a smile
— That turned my heart to stone:
My wife that came from fairyland
— No longer was alone.

For there had come a little hand
— To show the green way home,
Home through the leaves, home through the dew,
— Home through the greenwood — home.