Witch-Hazel, Dogwood, And The Maple Here; And There The Oak And Hickory; Linn, Poplar, And The Beech-Tree, Far And Near As The Eased Eye Can See. Wild-Ginger; Wahoo, With Its Wan Balloons; And Brakes Of Briers Of A Twilight Green; And Fox-Grapes Plumed With Summer; And Strung Moons Of Mandrake Flowers Between. Deep Gold-Green Ferns, And Mosses Red And Gray, - Mats For What Naked Myth'S White Feet? - And, Cool And Calm, A Cascade Far Away With Even-Falling Beat. Old Logs, Made Sweet With Death; Rough Bits Of Bark; And Tangled Twig And Knotted Root; And Sunshine Splashes And Great Pools Of Dark; And Many A Wild-Bird'S Flute. Here Let Me Sit Until The Indian, Dusk, With Copper-Colored Feet, Comes Down; Sowing The Wildwood With Star-Fire And Musk, And Shadows Blue And Brown. Then Side By Side With Some Magician Dream, To Take The Owlet-Haunted Lane, Half-Roofed With Vines; Led By A Firefly Gleam, That Brings Me Home Again.