The Wood God

I Heard his step upon the moss;     I glimpsed his shadow in the stream;     And thrice I saw the brambles toss     Wherein he vanished like a dream.     A great beech aimed a giant stroke     At my bent head, in mad alarm;     And then a chestnut and an oak     Struck at me with a knotted arm.     The brambles clutched at me; and fear     For one swift instant held me fast     Just long enough to let me hear     His windlike footsteps vanish past.     The brushwood made itself more dense,     And looped my feet with green delay;     And, threatening every violence,     The rocks and thorns opposed my way.     But still I followed; strove and strained     In spite of all the wood devised     To hold me back, and on him gained     The deity I had surprised.     The genius of the wood, whose flute     Had led me far; at first, to see     The imprint of his form and foot     Upon the moss beneath the tree.     A bird piped warning and he fled:     I saw a gleam of gold and green:     The woodland held its breath for dread     That its great godhead would be seen.     Could I but speak him face to face,     And for a while his joy behold,     What visions there might then take place,     What myst'ries of the woods be told!     And well I knew that he was near     By that soft sound the water made     Upon its rock; and by the fear     The wind unto the leaves betrayed.     And by the sign bough made to bough,     The secret signal, brusque and brief,     That said, "On guard! He's looking now!"     And pointed at me every leaf.     Then suddenly the way lay wide;     The brambles ceased to clutch and tear;     And even the grim trees shrunk aside,     And motioned me, "He's there! he's there!"     A ruse! I knew it for a ruse,     To thwart my search at last. But I     Had been a fool to follow clues,     And let the god himself pass by.     And then the wood in mighty mirth     Laughed at me, all its bulk a-swing;     It roared and bent its giant girth     As if it'd done a clever thing.     But I, on whom its scorn was spent,     Said not a word, but turned away:     To me this truth was evident     No man may see the gods to-day.