The Stranger

In the nook of a wood where a pool freshed with dew      Glassed, daybreak till evening, blue sky glimpsing through      Then a star; or a slip of May-moon silver-white,      Thridding softly aloof the quiet of night,              Was a thicket of flowers.      Willow herb, mint, pale speedwell and rattle      Water hemlock and sundew - to the wind's tittle-tattle      They nodded, dreamed, swayed in jocund delight,      In beauty and sweetness arrayed, still and bright.      By turn scampered rabbit; trotted fox; bee and bird      Paused droning, sang shrill, and the fair water stirred.      Plashed green frog, or some brisk little flickering fish -      Gudgeon, stickleback, minnow - set the ripples a-swish.      A lone pool, a pool grass-fringed, crystal-clear:      Deep, placid, and cool in the sweet of the year;      Edge-parched when the sun to the Dog Days drew near;      And with winter's bleak rime hard as glass, robed in snow,      The whole wild-wood sleeping, and nothing a-blow      But the wind from the North - bringing snow.      That is all. Save that one long, sweet, June night-tide straying,      The harsh hemlock's pale umbelliferous bloom      Tenting nook, dense with fragrance and secret with gloom,      In a beaming of moon-colored light faintly raying,      On buds orbed with dew phosphorescently playing,      Came a Stranger - still-footed, feat-fingered, clear face      Unhumanly lovely: ... and supped in that place.