This side the deeper wood,
Of somber oak and pine,
A dryad sisterhood
Upon the hill's incline,
In poised expectance stand,
As waiting but the sign,
To dance a saraband!
The oaks and pines, alway,
A darkling mystery hide.
In Lady-Grove, all day,
The cheerful sunbeams glide;
And many a singing brood
In peace and joy abide
With this lov'd sisterhood.
Their raiment fair is wove
Of tender green and white:
Come, Breeze, to Lady-Grove
And put their trance to flight;
For if they once were freed—
My Silver Birches light—
Ah, what a dance they'd lead!