The Hamadryad

She stood among the longest ferns     The valley held; and in her hand     One blossom, like the light that burns     Vermilion o'er a sunset land;     And round her hair a twisted band     Of pink-pierced mountain-laurel blooms:     And darker than dark pools, that stand     Below the star-communing glooms,     Her eyes beneath her hair's perfumes.     I saw the moonbeam sandals on     Her flowerlike feet, that seemed too chaste     To tread true gold: and, like the dawn     On splendid peaks that lord a waste     Of solitude lost gods have graced,     Her face: she stood there, faultless-hipped,     Bound as with cestused silver, chased     With acorn-cup and crown, and tipped     With oak leaves, whence her chiton slipped.     Limbs that the gods call loveliness!     The grace and glory of all Greece     Wrought in one marble shape were less     Than her perfection! 'Mid the trees     I saw her and time seemed to cease     For me. And, lo! I lived my old     Greek life again of classic ease,     Barbarian as the myths that rolled     Me back into the Age of Gold.