THE ENCOUNTER


There's a wood-way winding high,
Roofed far up with light-green flicker,
Save one midmost star of sky.
Underfoot 'tis all pale brown
With the dead leaves matted down
One on other, thick and thicker;
Soft, but springing to the tread.
There a youth late met a maid
Running lightly,--oh, so fleetly!
"Whence art thou?" the herd-boy said.
Either side her long hair swayed,
Half a tress and half a braid,
Colored like the soft dead leaf,
As she answered, laughing sweetly,
On she ran, as flies the swallow;
He could not choose but follow
Though it had been to his grief.

"I have come up from the valley,--
From the valley!" Once he caught her,
Swerving down a sidelong alley,
For a moment, by the hand.
"Tell me, tell me," he besought her,
"Sweetest, I would understand