Like as a dryad, from her native bole <br />Coming at dusk, when the dim stars emerge, <br />To a slow river at whose silent verge <br />Tall poplars tremble and deep grasses roll, <br />Come thou no less and, kneeling in a shoal <br />Of the freaked flag and meadow buttercup, <br />Bend till thine image from the pool beam up <br />Arched with blue heaven like an aureole. <br />See how adorable in fancy then <br />Lives the fair face it mirrors even so, <br />O thou whose beauty moving among men <br />Is like the wind's way on the woods below, <br />Filling all nature where its pathway lies <br />With arms that supplicate and trembling sighs.<br /><br />Alan Seeger<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xii-4/
