Very old are the woods; And the buds that break Out of the brier’s boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are—

A song of Enchantment I sang me t… In a green-green wood, by waters f… Just as the words came up to me I sang it under the wild wood tree… Widdershins turned I, singing it…

Puss loves man’s winter fire Now that the sun so soon Leaves the hours cold it warmed In burning June. She purrs full length before

Three jolly gentlemen, In coats of red, Rode their horses Up to bed. Three jolly gentlemen

That one, alone, Who’s dared and gone To seek the Magic Wonderstone, No fear, or care, Or black despair

Speak not – whisper not; Here bloweth thyme and bergamot; Softly on the evening hour, Secret herbs their spices shower. Dark-spiked rosemary and myrrh,

Jagg’d mountain peaks and skies ic… Wall in the wild, cold scene below… Churches, farms, bare copse, the s… In freezing quiet of winter show; Where ink-black shapes on fields i…

Upon a bank, easeless with knobs o… Beneath a canopy of noonday smoke, I saw a measureless Beast, morose… With eyes like one from filthy dre… Who stares upon the daylight in de…

Black lacqueys at the wide-flung d… Stand mute as men of wood. Gleams like a pool the ballroom fl… A burnished solitude. A hundred waxen tapers shine

When thin-strewn memory I look th… I see most clearly poor Miss Loo, Her tabby cat, her cage of birds, Her nose, her hair—her muffled wor… And how she’d open her green eyes,

“Once... Once upon a time...” Over and over again, Martha would tell us her stories, In the hazel glen. Hers were those clear gray eyes

Isled in the midnight air, Musked with the dark’s faint bloom… Out into glooming and secret haunt… The flame cries, ‘Come!’ Lovely in dye and fan,

Clouded with snow The cold winds blow, And shrill on leafless bough The robin with its burning breast Alone sings now.