Classic Poem

I FOUND a grotto in a nest of hills,
Half hidden by down-drooping branch and vine,
Where year by year the mountain torrent drills
Deeper its pathway between slopes of pine.

A fairy cave it was, scarce large enough
To let a baby breeze turn twice within;
And all its over-arching roof was rough
With bright rose-jewels, crystal-clear, and thin,

From which a sweet and dewy dampness dripped
With liquid note, in bubbling ripples brimmed
The silver-shining basin, hidden slipped
Through mossy channels, fern- and flower-trimmed.

And there, a half-span from the water's edge,
A violet nodded, and, with coyest grace,
Bent lightly over from her crannied ledge
To see, reflected, her own perfect face.

The clustering grasses, nestled at her feet
In shy attendance, waited her command,
And, roguish, raised their slender forms to greet
Her green leaves, set like guards on either hand.

Thus wrapped in the incense of her honeyed breath,
And lulled by murmurs from the pearly spring,
The cave her dwelling was for life and death—
A fitting casket for so fair a thing.