The wind through the summer woods blows cool,
by Alexander Anderson
So I walk with quiet pace,
But I stop a little at the pool,
And again I see your face.
Just where the pale primroses peep
Above the dimpling stream,
I see as in some magic sleep
A form to suit my dream.
And bright, and warm, and sweet to view
It grows distinct and fair,
As if the waves were mirrors true
And you were looking there:
All just the same as you stood that day,
When the wind was low and cool,
With your feet on the wild-flowers where they lay,
And your shadow in the pool.
But I could not reach the one wild rose
That in your hand was seen;
For still as thought and act would close,
The pool grew up between.
Ah heart, ah heart, I turn away
From the dreams of my idle brain,
And sigh to think that this summer day
Hath power to bring me pain;
For how many things in my little life
Have offer'd unto me
Their fresh sweet hopes with blossoms rife
As the spring-buds on a tree.
But still as my hand would make display
To gather what was seen,
Like the silent pool by the forest way
A gap grew up between.