Dryads
DowN the sleepy forest rides, in the dappled silver light The dryads were undressing, and would I had seen the sight.
They were stripping off their hose, They were shredding all their cio'es : They peeled themselves, like withies, in the middle of the night.
Would I had heard the rustling Of leaf-entangled locks, And seen the dryads hustling From out of summer frocks,
And all the bonny bustling—
The limbs and silver throats Of forest maidens, tussling With amber petticoats. In the copses and the shaws, and beside a tawny stream, The dryads were undressing, for to take a winter's dream : They were tearing into rags All their furbelows and tags, They shed their frocks like petals, and their limbs were all a-gleam.
Would I had seen the tumbling Of bright-as-gold array, And seen their garments tumbling In tatters all a-fray, And seen their fingers fumbling With folds that went astray, While every breeze was grumbling Upon its wanton way.
In the forest, very late, every dryad stood before The tiny secret lintel of her little narrow door, Very slim, and very white, And she said a soft " good-night."
And left her little garments in a tumble on the floor.
Oh ! may I have an inkling Of dressing-time, and go When limbs are all a-twinkling Through drifts of petal snow, And hear the bluebells tinkling, And see the gay conceits Of petticoats, uncrinkling In little emerald pleats. BARBARA EUPHAN TODD.
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