In the heart of a German forest I followed the winding ways
Deep-cushioned with moss, and barr’d with the sunset’s slanting rays,
When out of the distance dim, where no end to the path was seen,
But the breath of the Springtime clung like a motionless mist of green,
I heard a sound of singing, unearthly-sad and clear,
Rise from the forest deeps and float on the evening air.
And I thought of the spirits told of in dark old forest lore
Who roam the greenwood singing for ever and evermore;
And I stopped and wondered and waited, as nearer the music grew,
Louder and still more loud—till at last came into view
A troop of Saxon maidens, tanned with the rain and sun,
A burden of billeted wood on the shoulders of every one!
The strong steps never falter’d, the chanting passed away
In the fragrant depths of the woodland, and died with the dying day.
No spirits in truth! yet it seem’d, as awhile in dreams I stood,
That a music more than earthly had passed through the dark’ning wood.
And it seemed that the Day to the Morrow bequeathed in that solemn strain
The whole world’s hope and labour, its love, and its ancient pain.