The Wood Anemone

The thorn-tree waved a bough of May     And all its branches bent     To indicate the wildwood way     The Wind and Sunbeam went.     A wildrose here, a wildrose there     Lifted appealing eyes,     And looked the path they did not dare     Reveal in other wise.     Wild parsley tossed a plume of gold     And breathed so sweet a sigh,     I guessed the way, it never told,     Which they had hastened by.     I traced the Beam, so swift and white,     In many a woodland place     By wildflower footprints of its flight     And gleamings of its grace.     I knew its joy had filled with song     The high heart of the bird,     That rippled, rippled all day long     In dells that hushed and heard.     I knew the Wind with flashing feet     Had charmed the brook withal,     Who in its cascades did repeat     The music of that call.     All were in league to help me find,     Or tell to me the way,     Which now before me, now behind,     These two had gone in play.     I could not understand how these     Could hide so near to me,     When by the whispering of the trees     I knew the wood could see.     Until, all breathless with its joy,     The Wind, that could not rest,     Ran past me, like a romping boy,     And bade me look my best.     And there I saw them clasped in bliss     Beneath an old beech tree:     And-here's the flower born of their kiss     This wild anemone.     "Revels the Moon did light."