Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old, <br />Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree; <br />The west wind breathes upon them pure and cold, <br />And still wolves dread Diana roving free, <br />In secret woodland with her company. <br />'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite <br />When now the wolds are bathed in silver light, <br />And first the moonrise breaks the dusky gray; <br />Then down the dells, with blown soft hair and bright, <br />And through the dim wood, Dian thrids her way. <br /> <br />With water-weeds twined in their locks of gold <br />The strange cold forest-fairies dance in glee; <br />Sylphs over-timorous and over-bold <br />Haunt the dark hollows where the dwarf may be, <br />The wild red dwarf, the nixies' enemy: <br />Then, 'mid their mirth and laughter and affright, <br />The sudden goddess enters, tall and white, <br />With one long sigh for summers passed away; <br />The swift feet tear the ivy nets outright, <br />And through the dim wood Dian thrids her way. <br /> <br />She gleans her sylvan trophies; down the wold <br />She hears the sobbing of the stags that flee, <br />Mixed with the music of the hunting rolled, <br />But her delight is all in archery, <br />And naught of ruth and pity wotteth she <br />More than the hounds that follow on the flight; <br />The tall nymph draws a golden bow of might, <br />And thick she rains the gentle shafts that slay; <br />She tosses loose her locks upon the night, <br />And through the dim wood Dian thrids her way. <br /> <br /> <br />ENVOI <br /> <br />Prince, let us leave the din, the dust, the spite, <br />The gloom and glare of towns, the plague, the blight; <br />Amid the forest leaves and fountain spray <br />There is the mystic home of our delight, <br />And through the dim wood Dian thrids her way.<br /><br />Theodore de Banville<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ballade-on-the-mysterious-hosts-of-the-forest/
