The Glade.

A GREEN and vaporous cloud of buds, the larch
Folds in soft drapery above the glade,
Where deeper-foliaged pines high over-arch,
And dignify the heavy, stooping shade,
There yellow violets spring, in rarest show,
And golden rods in secret clusters blow.

There piping hylas fill the helpless air,
And chattering black-birds hold their gossip by,
And near I saw the tender maiden-hair,
With the fine, breeze-born, white anemone;
The glade, though undisturbed by human art,
Has richer treasures than the busy mart.