In deep green woods there lies a fairy glade,
Shut in by tawny hemlocks wild and tall;
Its floor is made with richest moss, and all
Its round is steeped in most delicious shade.
It is a spot for listening silence made.
Few sounds awake it save the wild bird's call,
And winds that murmur round its forest wall,
like instruments at airy distance played.
'Tis there a still and stolen guest I lie,
And listen to the weird wood-spirits singing:
I hear their bell-like voices floating nigh,
From arches green and dewy dingles springing;
They pa** in elfin song and laughter by—
I hear their clear ha! ha! In deep dells ringing.