The Woods of Saint Mary


Mary walked in shade,
Between the dewy rows,
Full elegant and staid,
With bracelets and with bows;
And monk’s hood threatened there,
Behind the aster’s white,
And the branch’s pendent pear,
O’er mushrooms black as night;
Whilst all the blooms of spring,
And summer’s sun as well,
Could not make Mary sing . . .
For all the mandrake’s spell!

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