The Deep Seclusion Of This Forest Path, - O'Er Which The Green Boughs Weave A Canopy; Along Which Bluet And Anemone Spread Dim A Carpet; Where The Twilight Hath Her Cool Abode; And, Sweet As Aftermath, Wood-Fragrance Roams, - Has So Enchanted Me, That Yonder Blossoming Bramble Seems To Be A Sylvan Resting, Rosy From Her Bath: Has So Enspelled Me With Tradition'S Dreams, That Every Foam-White Stream That, Twinkling, Flows, And Every Bird That Flutters Wings Of Tan, Or Warbles Hidden, To My Fancy Seems A Naiad Dancing To A Faun Who Blows Wild Woodland Music On The Pipes Of Pan.