Virgin darkness, wet and deep
Where dwells but April, dwells but sleep,
What presence clear
Like a beam has entered here?
What lov'd footstep, that the trees
Freshen their soliloquies,
Birds break into louder lays?
All fair Nature's heart runs wild
To remember her sweet child:
In the wood Myvanwy strays!
O what gladness thrills her through
Her wayward darling back to woo
From life again,
Thought, and passion, stir and men!
Clasp her now! From that great lure
O sweet Nature, clasp her sure,
Where no alien eye perceives!
Lead her where dim brooks have birth,
Fill her with the smell of earth,
Shut her in a thousand leaves.
Born in foliage like the flowers,
Myvanwy, to that world of ours
Of throng and street
O how strayed your vernal feet?
There where not a daisy smiles,
There where green earth's pale exiles
Toil and toil and never cease!
"Who is this?" the passer said:
Rustic grass was in your tread,
In your laughter the wild breeze!
Ah! no gift of heath to city;
It was love led you, love and pity
To my sad heart,
Child, your rapture to impart.
The fast-bound, like wintry earth,
Your intoxicating mirth
Loosed and rained delightful showers:
Showed me where their song birds borrow,
All the uselessness of sorrow,
All the joy of April flowers!