Classic Poem

Where lurks the shining quarry, swift and shy,
Immune, elusive, unsubstantial?
In what dim forests of the soul, where call
No birds, and no beasts creep? (the hunter's cry
Wounds the deep darkness, and the low winds sigh
Through avenues of trees whose faint leaves fall
Down to the velvet ground, and like a pall
The violet shadows cover all the sky).

With what gold nets, what silver-pointed spears
May we surprise her, what slim flutes inspire
With breath of what serene enchanted air? —
Wash we our star-ward gazing eyes with tears,
Till on their pools (drawn by our white desire)
She bend and look, and leave her image there.