THE WOOD.
Tax crouching forms of crab trees will point you To the wood's sodden edge, and watch you through The rotting gate ; and inside you will stand Uncertain—for two steep paths on each hand Lead down and down. 0 which path will end near The caverned water sounds that you can hear So distantly ? Wood waters fall, unseen, Through low fern-scented ways where brown rocks lean . .
And which path will unfold the threaded glow Of willow herb through pine trees, row on row ? And which path will hold least of awesome things— Harsh bird cries and the beat of shadowed wings ?
You'll hesitate, and stand. And softly now, The small wood winds will stoop from bough to bough And cover you and hold you. You will start Your journey with the wood spell on your heart.
DOROTHY Romewes.
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