Nero CaroZiv


A forest nymph


It was the middle of the night by the forest mossy rock
The furry feathers owl had awakened the woods clock
How drowsy were the habitants of the trees at that hour
The wind whistled and moaned ominously across the wide bower
All night the restless wind breathed low with mellower tone
Through every hollow cave and craggy alley lone



The night was stormy, chilly and haunted dark
The trees barely held to their thin, tattered peeling bark
The heavy dark gray clouds were spread in vaults high
They covered but not totally hided the canopy sky
The old frightened hare in her pad beneath the rock
Made no answer to the wide starring owl alarm clock



A night with winds which began to flow and to rise
A thundering broken roar from the far West dropping day
Blew dust and hay and whirled them high in the air away
The flock of alarmed crows were blown to the skies
The awful awl scouted the forest deep
Who still would venture out? who would not sleep




It was the a month before the month of June
The spring straggled late and out of tune
May flowers did not bloom yet bellow the barren peak
Except black pebbles that wreathed the winding creek
The pale moon was peeping behind cracks of siege of clouds
With fickle unsteady mood would set her observer in wondering doubts



The moon was waning behind not in total full
With unsettled orbit of shaken sky searching for a lull
The rain came down in gusts and hurls ferocious and loud
The forest beasts were hurdling for a cover shroud
At the village close by windows shutters banged in sound grimed;
All night the roof's gutters over flew over brimmed



Oh that lovely lady her name I do not know to tell
Whom the village people feared and hated so profoundly well
What made her in the pathless woods roam so late
Had she not any shelter or a hut, a warm welcoming gate
Withdrew she into the forest so early before a dark chilly dreary morning
A day to come with sun delayed over village with gray sky in mourning



There in the forest she wandered; a phantom of delight
Dressed in a long silken gown of a bright hue of white
Its shadowy silhouette in the moonlight lulled and played
With a neck that made that white gown look stately displayed
Her beautiful shoulders and arms were glossy and bare
Her blue veined feet un sandaled and bare to the chilly air



And wildly glittered in every direction there
The vermilion hue gems entangled in her hair
Such a beautiful lady must had been a frightful vision to see
A lady so exceedingly exquisite as was she
The early spring flowers were vanquished lost in their pride
As she passed by them trying their blushes to hide




She had amorous dreams all during the night
Of her own future to be her dream knight
The meadow before her was grassy lush, wild and bare
Wide, wanton and open to the breezy air
And she in the midnight wood would in pure presence pray
That the day her future lover she would meet was not too far away



So the night was chilly and the forest gloom bare
It was the stubborn wind that moaned calmly stark and bleak
Yet there was not wind enough in the dump air
To stir away the ringlet so silk soft curl
From the lovely lady's smooth wet cheek
For no doubt her presence put the night gale into a quell



Nor there was wind enough to shake off or to twirl
The one black red leaf, the last of its group
That continued to mock and to dance against the wind and no yield it took
It clutched to its root bough as an adamant squirrel
Hanging so light and hanging so fairly high
On the topmost thin twig that scanned the grim sky



She smoothed along muddy ground and she nothing spoke
Her dress wet soaked her tufts of hair were soft and low
And nothing was green upon the naked boughs of blaster oak
But the black moss and the rare mistletoe
She kneeled beneath the broad huge oak tree
And in divine silence and holy serenity prayed she



The night was still stormy tempest and wind straining
The pale yellow dark woods were waning
And the broad lake with overflowed banks complaining
Of relentless downpour from heavy low sky raining
Down to the bay she swiftly walked and found a boat
Beneath a solitary willow left by a villager afloat



As she passed through the moon struck surf
The wind became calm along the bare turf
She left her bare foot print on the white sand
By the host of wild sage on the bare bank
Of that eye sapphire bay, on whose smooth watery face
Our world was reflected in reverse and encircled by tree's lace





Such a lovely ornament on the womb of earth
Just lately had been given by the forest nymph a newly birth
Which a cloud that floats on vaults of heights
Never in its long wandering has spot in sight
Yet to the villagers these marks on the white sand
Proved to be an ominous sign of foul hand



In that midnight spring she found by the bay within
A little boat tied to branches dripping willow tree
Straight she unloosed the chain and stepping in
Pushed from the grassy shore with alacrity seldom one may see
Oh the pleasure of her scene, nor without the voice and grace
Of mountains echoes against the bay trees base



And the boat moved smoothly along the bay
As the silver moon watched spreading her abundance of rays
Away from the creeping mosses and clambering weeds
Leaving behind the willow branches hoar and dank
And the waving swell of the murmuring reeds
And the wave worn surf of the bay echoing bank



A forest nymph on a floating boat with her exquisite face
Started singing with pure soft voice pealing to the moon flooded sky
She stood on her sailing boat with feet like sunny gems in forest with dark green
A nymph in the light of her youth and her grace
Singing a passionate ballad gallant of context that never die
A listener to such voice will be enthralled, trance, though she might be unseen





And thus she sailed in grace and beauty, like the night
Of cloudless, clear climates and starry flickering skies;
And all that was best of dark hues and rays bright
Converge in her aspect and her dreaming eyes:
Thus her appearance mellowed to that tender light
Which Heaven at that bay to the holy days denies.



If one could watch the shade the more or the ray less,
The war of lights had half impaired her nameless grace
Which waved so glamorously in every raven tress,
Or softly lightened over her countless beautiful face;
Where thoughts were serenely and sweetly in express,
Astonishingly how pure, how dear their dwelling-place.


No one was there at night to regard that cheek, and that brow,
So soft, so calm, so bright and eloquent,
With smiles that wins, and with tints that glow,
But tell of days in the forest gloom yet in goodness spent,
And her mind at peace with all the forest dwellers below,
And heart whose love was pure naturally innocent!




Her sweet voice on the nightly bay was like music on the waters
There was none like her in all of the village daughters
Her voice so soft and calming as if its sound causing
The vexed bay face holy retreat and pausing
For then the rippling waves lie still and gleaming
And the lulled winds slowed in trance dreaming


On the forest echoes did her boat moved with the tide
Leaving behind her still stir on either side
Small waves in circles glittering idly in the moon
Until they all melt united into one track of loom
Of sparkling light; But their maid rows in pride
The see the slumbering village houses flickering late lights


Alas! , Danger! Danger! the village was dorming ominous and close
They, the villagers attributed to her all their failures and mal fortune in full dose
To the forest nymph that in the remote depth of the pathless woods dwell
Yet no one in the village could explain or tell
How it all evolved or spread out and culminated
And it went on strengthened snow balled and never terminated



And yet to the village people, habits, ways and girls' cloths she was strongly drawn
To all the stores, boutiques and everywhere merchandise was shown
The skirts, the bags and other feminine articles especially the perfume scents
The way they walk, the way the eat or laugh in the village gathering streets
Not once she tried to join them in the village streets
But they have chased her out vigorously with blocks and stones and whatever the found as fit


The floating gray thin clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow soft dripping branches bend
She did fail to acknowledge the motions of the calm dorm storm
A grace that she had would mold any maiden delight form
How the village folks fail to see
That silent meek silent sympathy



And thus she dwell in a hut among pathless un trodden forest ways
Besides of orchards springs and high trees nesting dove
A forest nymph whom there were none to praise
A maid that except her grandmother did experience any human love
Like a shy violet by a mossy stone hidden from the eye
Fair as a unique star when it is the only one shinning in the sky


So light and sportive she was as a fresh fawn
That is wild with the glee of the wind strutting along the meadow lawn
Or challenged the mountains heights with rushing springs
Where fresh distilled waters fall in streams
And hers was the field breathing balm
With intoxicating flowers scent and calm


The forest stars of midnight would be fascinating and dear
To her, and she would listen leaning her ear
In many remote and secret places
Where rivulets danced and swayed their wayward round
To adore the beauty born of the forest murmuring sound
The forest night scenes and music played pass before her in many faces



Once upon a morning spring in the early hours of dawn
Two villagers young got up and sallied from their cottage brown
Athwart their shoulders a bow and arrows they carried
And towards the forest their steps they hurried.
All day they searched a target for their arrow
Finding none, their long anguish grew sharp and narrow.


Hunger and thirst tortured them all day till dusk
And fatigue and pain settled in their limbs to last
But alas toward the evening as the sun sunk
They by the lake watched a phantom of delight that shook their trust
Tall and amorous the forest nymph looked
As she courted her beautiful image in a shady nook.



'Is that the maid the village betrides as a vile witch
A reason and a cause of all their mal happening they preach
See her tattered attire how it makes it so expire and lean
Any cloth on her stature will look like a queen
Oh this whole landscape meadow without her image of win
Will look like a barren field in the middle of draught in spring'



On either side of the running brook lie
Long fields of wind brushing barley and heads of rye
That reached as far as the reach of the eye
The breeze blew thru the wold and met in vaults of sky
And thru the field the road cut and run by
Where field rabbits stood unwilling to cross and shy



The gleaming willows whitening in the gales along the river
The aspens shade the hills close by in the brook murmur shiver
Little breezes of dawn that run for ever
Behind the wall of high colorful flowers
The village gray houses and four gray towers
The silent meadow it embowers




Her tinny feet jumped over creeping mosses and clambering weeds
As she ran beneath willow branches hoar and dank
She ran along the wavy swell of the sighing reeds
And the wave worn horns of the opposite echoing bank
He scudded the silvery marsh flowers that throng
Over meadows and valleys in stretched so long








Her two great eyes slay him suddenly;
Their beauty shock him although he was a lad so serene;
Straight through his heart the wound was quick and keen.
The whole scene fell upon him unexpected and abruptly
Only a gentle word from her voluptuous mouth could heal the injury
To his pain and hurt heart, while yet the wound was clean


The forest nymph did not prolonged herself on the stage of the two
Hesitatingly, while keeping her eyes on the foes she into the forest withdrew.
At least, and surprisingly the two lads did not so hostile
That astonishing thought dwelt in her head for a while
They did not raise these dreadful summons and called to the streets
Nor did they throw blocks and stones and called with dire shrieks and beats











The enthralled lad was amazed at the view; every now and then
He stopped and scan the forest edge and the small house again
And once, just once it seemed to him that from the smoking hut
A feminine dress flashed out white, mysterious and quite
Or something else falling gently from a height
Flew through the open porch like a flash light


The small house was surrounded; scattered all about cheery trees
Between them hand raised crops of all varieties
Wheat, maize and beans and bearded barely grew
And peas and millet; flowers and some bushes too
The housekeepers that garden had devised
As beautiful and abundance it was yet they were unapprised.






That was a day when summer sun shined dim in the open air
And not a sunbeam entered straight there
But even without the the sun rays he could see a thick winding tree train
And a chamber hidden in the woods with figures strange and sweet
All made out of imaginative feminine brain
For her hut had windows small with shutters that did not meet



Through the window he could curiously peek and see
Something carved so astonishingly by she
In the middle of the chamber a lamp with two-fold silver chain
Was fastened to an angelic figure feet; to stop him now who can?
The silver lamp burned dead and waning dim
But the forest nymph made it immediately bright by a trim



Suddenly and swiftly she appeared in the wooden porch
His heart started bouncing in his chest, he was a torch
He was amazed and enthralled: 'Oh gracious hell!
Where did she get this hailing tail? '
Oh hell like from which heaven she stole
The fire that through those silken lashes
In fiercest glances seem to ever roll
From the eyes that cannot hide their flashes


She was a human after all! totally alive human and not a witch
He wish he could that view of her his villagers teach
A stature of Goddess; as her bosom steal
In lengthened flow her raven tresses
No other maid in town can match, be she from the best lasses

He could swear each clustering lock could still
And curled to give her beautiful neck caresses
As she strayed on the mossy porch along
She imprinted her impression on the amazed gazing throng
Of birds of songs and like some bearded meteor trailing light
She at the girdle porch stayed and stared towards his side

He was stricken and delirious
She was inquisitive and curious



He crouched few yards in front her carved with stone
And once, but once she turned lifting her eyes
And suddenly, sweetly, strangely blushed
To find they were met by his own
And suddenly, sweetly strangely his heart beat stronger
His blood throbbed thicker until he heard no longer


He could no more, but lay like one in trance
That cannot speak, nor move, nor make one sign
But lies and adores his treasure view in constant glance
She turned and paused by the sunbeam blasted pine
'Come down, O maid, from this oracle of a mountain fire '
He urgently to himself thought, overwhelmed with desire


With her long like water fall hair she drew him like the moon draws the sea
A floating cloud stooped from the bright sky and threw its shape
Over a long valley, and near mountain and a remote cape
He felt no more the same, her fate and his were that moment sealed
An emotional surge seized his heart to which he could not yield
But how he would strive the village stream; and see what they could not see



He struggled anxious to raise his palm in serene calm and no stress
With friendly peacefully gesture that expressed no harm
He felt compelled to prove to her that he was not like the village rest
His body, his heart bared for her no contest of any kind
But before he could make up his ghastly mind
An old dowager rushed out the hut and sounded the alarm


She immediately gathered back into the hut his eyes revered pleasure
Who would imagine his lost in depth and in measure
For not everyday one can lose such a divine treasure
His task disappeared; his song had ceased, the theme
Of such enthralling spell was broken of that protracted dream
For a few gracious moments they were one picture as one team



And thus he stood in the forest thicket long alone
His soul, like the earth after the sun has gone
It grew slowly cool and took a darker hue
He mused at what he saw but in his dreams no comfort drew
A solitary sadness crept into his mind too painful to bare
That sad thought; that loneliness of feeling without her


'How -fair she is; fairer than any flower or grass
'The field's chief flower, she is sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than any lass,
More white and red than doves or roses do share;
Nature that made her, with herself at strife,
Faith that the world has ending with your life.'



There was no danger from the summer sky that day
Except the mid-day sun's fierce scorching ray
The birds were gathering on high boughs on a plot of wide land
And some lazily lied on the grass or bathed in the sand
Among the heads of the birds there rose in sight
Small flower heads, high in stems and flaxen white


Above the varied hues of the flower heads and ears
A shining mist like canopy rose to appear
Of flapping butterflies, the kind with rain bow colors light
And some as a grasshopper their wings transparent bright
Scarcely were seen when they were hovering above
As their wings sounded in a murmur as they dodged and rove


He was cautious in moves, focusing on a dandelion he found
To demonstrate that she was not his objective but the feathery flower round
He pretend to long to finger it he tiptoed near
He blew indifferently and all the plumelets seemed to disappear
And all that was left in his hand of them
Was but the naked shaft of a green stem



He mused about her delighting sight against the golden field hue
But from his lovely scenery no comfort drew
A strange never before ecstasy engulfed his mind not knowing why
She was so close at hand making his hopes growing high
For a while towards that shepherdess he strolled and crept
His head was turning and burning his heart leapt


So many graces in that nymph he found
With such imaginings he decked her round
He was close to tell she had such a pretty face
A tall slender stature; not too tall to devoid her grace
Those tender smooth cheeks, that blushing catching liveliness
Limned an excessive, primitive vulgar happiness



He was constantly cautious, with sidelong stealing glance
Not daring to approach her straight, he approached askance
In narrowing circuits like a ploughman in the field goes
But ever closer to his quarry his steps were bold to grow
He wore a straw hat that beneath his chin was tied
It waved like a burdock leaf with every stride


The astonished maid heard him quite well
But she made no reply neither told him any excuse or tale
Behind her he noticed tiny foot's prints impressed
in the fresh balmy grass she just recently had pressed
The outline was distinct but light, a track of one who walk fast
It seemed she scarcely touched the weeds over which she passed




'How -fair she is; fairer than any flower or grass'
'The field's chief flower, she is sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than any lass,
More white and red than doves or roses do share;
Nature that made her, with herself at strife,
Faith that the world has ending with your life.


Once she realized his close vicinity
She immediately turned her back to him in timidity
'This fair charmer with such a soft pleasant voice
My heart resigns to his approach making me his choice'
She contemplated silently holding her flower basket
What on awkward feeling she never was such a target



'God must have bestowed all kindness in this fellow
To leave the rest of the village people barren with harsh and hatred glow




His blood throbbed, in vain he struggled not in his heart to melt
But in his own despite compassion for her he felt
Behind a tree in a watchful silence hiding
He sighted at last and to himself he contemplated chiding
'If I err here I am to blame not she'
And he thrust his head out slowly from the tree



Noticing his move she abruptly turned her back to him
He was close enough to be enthralled by her figure tall, slander, trim
His efforts to encircle her and face her again
Were matched by her contra reaction, to prove it nothing but in vain
Her skin over her neck and limbs is spread like a dream
All the lights around her turn their heads in shame dim



Her hair twisted in abundance of locks so silky, so wavy and fair
Dancing around and over her radiant face
They taunted and denied the morning breezes from caressing their share
Her long legs were bare not casted as the village girls in black shoes with bouncing lace





Oh gracious hell!
Where did she get this hailing tail?
Oh hell like from which heaven she stole
The fire that through those silken lashes
In fiercest glances seem to ever roll
From the eyes that cannot hide their flashes

And as her bosom steal
In lengthened flow her raven tresses
No other maid in town can match, be she from the best lasses
I could swear each clustering lock could still
nd curled to give her neck caresses












Early the next morning, at the time of the early hours of dawn
He got up and sallied from his cottage door without a word, all alone
Athwart his shoulders no food nor a bow nor arrows he carried
And towards the forest his steps he anxiously hurried.
The village dim lights through shutters he did not acknowledge or say a word
Last night, all night to all his family he was quite and cold



The morning summer sun her fiery eye was yield
As he BEHOLD her, single roaming in the high wheat field,
She was working brushing ankle-high in a sea of flowers
And he could hear the wind behind playing in thousands waves of golden wheat
He breathed nostrils wide the field sweet
As the cows thick with milk and the buzzing bees honey his hour


In solitary a magnificent blooming, flower field Lass
Reaping and singing by herself in a gentle pass
Alone she cut and bind the ripe golden grain,
While singing a melancholy strain;
Oh as he listened for the vale profound
He was totally overflowing with her sound.


Such a divine voice carried by the wind No Nightingale did ever chant
A More welcome notes never heard to weary bands
Of fatigue travelers in some shady solitary haunt,
As she sang her cheerful melody, she kept at work her white ivory hands
A voice so thrilling never in the meadow was heard
In summer-time from the any bird



She sang for a while as if her song could have no ending;
He watched her thoughtless as she was singing And o'er the sickle bending
He listened, motionless and still;
And, then he mounted up a close by hill,
He knew this music in his heart he bore,
Long after it was heard no more.


He stared astonished at the beauty, and was silent for a while
At length he spoke to her in less exalted style
'I see I spoil your field of wheat and I ask your pardon
Forgive me I tried to take a closer look hurrying through the garden
You have a beautiful harvest at this summer days of late
I can help with loading the piles to the wagon straight'



The forest nymph smiled bewildered and made no reply
'I am from the village that is behind the lake, close to the ridge high
You are so astonishingly beautiful, whatever name be thine
Or a nymph, or ghost, or vision of phantom or divine
Would you say something? Do you come to the world by your volition
Or by other none celestial order is your condition? '


'She is a treasure of love whatever she may be'
He mused, 'Beautiful lass like her in the village no one can meet or see
Too often a great soul or great thought grows
Alone secluded and secret like a woodland rose
But bring it out to the sun's summer bright rays
And with thousands views and hues it will amaze


Her smile melted his heart, his eyes enthralled to all her stature, all her parts in the sun
He drowned his fear by the utmost craving to speak, to address that beguiling maid
And having gained a modicum of composure he finally began
' Ah beautiful maid to what name do you answer or turn? '
His face blushed, his inwards did shake, his flesh did burn
And his mind kept wondering from what materials she was crafted and made



'Name? ' she wondered, 'What does this word mean?
She was astonished being so much uncommon to humans habits and ways
She left her sheath and got closer to him abandoning her usual avoiding days
Inside her there was assurance that village lad meant no harm and bared no intensions mean
Such a creature tall and slim clad with ragged hand made cloths
Her slaying eyes shined in the summer sun were streaming both



He remembered the old lady in the hut where she with forest nymph dwell
Though she did called the lovely maid; he did not hear it well
'The old lady in the house' he said pointing back to the hut behind trees vile
'She is my grandmother' the maid explained with a smile
'Ah, I see, how she call you? how she says come to me'
'My love, sometimes my heart or my little soul' she said looking so kind


Her reply was so timid and shy as the wind blew the curl from her check
Even the snow white steed turned back in curious peek
He immediately rushed to collect and to catch all bundles of golden ripe wheat
And gathered them to be loaded into the wagon with snow white steed
Amazed and confused the shy maid watched the vigorous lad
Strangely a villager with not hate malice seemed so odd


She studied the unknown lad who was smiling pleasantly
Quite plainly grateful for her timid maiden courtesy
An observing which she lowered her eyes and hushed
And like a budding rose in spring all over blushed
He felt awkward for an instance raising slightly his arm
Not too close to her so he would not cause her to be in alarm


In her eyes he was indeed a fine and comely man
His face was long, his cheeks were fresh through wan
With gentle dark brown eyes and long fair hair
The golden straws and tufts of grass were still clinging on him there
Which he had collected through his toil and tried to throw them
And yet they were too stubborn to show like a disordered diadem




She mounted the wagon loaded fully with golden ripe bundles of wheat
And as the reign was pulled the steed burst along the sandy path
The dry dust rouse in twisting column of clouds and whirling circles
Yet through them she endorsed him with craving soft yearning treat
Followed by a feminine bursting laugh
For him it was the best of all miracles


The young lad stood long in the vast meadow of April showers
Gazing, musing, breathing in the fragrance of the fresh spring flowers.
He bent down his face to the violet plants and then
His curious eyes gazed passed over the paths again
And once more to the tiny footprints strayed
He tried to guess by whom they were made



Then, looking up he suddenly caught a phantom sight
Of an young girl, a lovely forest nymph upon the wild roses of white
That to her breast her slender form enclosed
Her statues shoulders and her swain like neck exposed
And she, as if there was none for her to see had pressed
The spring flowers she was holding upon her breast



Her hair was in voluptuous tresses confined
Not like the village lasses their hair into little paper pods twined
She was wonderfully graced in the sunlight shed
A radiance like a halo around her pretty head
Her face was turned down, from sight concealed
As if her eyes were continuously seeking the flowers in the wild field


Mushrooms were plentiful under summer sun
This time she stood there with basket half full and did not run
He noticed she had gathered some of each kind
As she stood and gazed around with uneasy, shy curious mind
The mushrooms were considered emblems of maidenhood; uneaten by worms
No insect ever lights upon their intrigue forms


He watched her, as for piece and solitude it seemed by nature she yearned
And slowly from where he stood her footsteps she in alacrity turned
Towards a hillock, where amid the cool over baring shade
Of thickly and lush growing trees a boulder grayed
From which a gurgling soothing fountain purpled and gushed
And then as though in search of the shadow, rushed



To hide itself in grasses and reeds tall, that rank
Its blue distilled water and therewith grew thick and rank
There that swift wanton, quite and smug stream curled
And whispered an inland murmur scarcely heard
The hidden stream flew cradled in leaves, in grass swaddled deep
As a human may put his fatigue head to a long sleep



He followed her in a slow pace and but not too far a distance
Just before the wide groove entrance
She stood above the stream and lightly shed
Upon the grass her piece of cloth; a shawl, carnelian red
She knelt and slowly lowered her side
Not minding the little waves that rushed towards her in unseasoned tide


So soon was he along as she was down,
Each were leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Then he slightly stroke her lovely cheek, she started to frown,
And when she chided, he soon stopped her lips;
And kissing spoke between them with lustful language of tongues
'If you chide, your lips shall never open.' she was breathless in her lungs

She was burning breathless with bashful shame
Nothing seemed to quench the maiden burning of her cheeks;
He paused meditating on her windy sighs and her golden hairs
Which fanned and blew his face dry again; a pause she seemed to seek
She turned away; saying he was immodest in a blame
What follows more he murdered with a passionate kiss.


Even as an empty eagle, fierce and sharp by fast,
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone,
Shaking her wings in the zeal of hut, devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stuffed or prey be gone;
Even so he kissed her brow, her cheek, her hair, her chin,
And where he ended he did anew begin.



Forced to content, but never as her wild nature, to obey,
Panting she lied and breathed into his face;
He feed on the steam as on a prey,
And felt as if it was heavenly moisture, air of grace;
Wishing his cheeks were gardens full of flowers,
So they were dewed with such distilling showers.


And thus, alas, how the wild bird lied tangled in a net,
So fastened in his arms she lied browsing the blue skies;
Pure shame and awed resistance made her again fret,
Which bred more beauty in her angry, wildly fierce eyes:
A Continuous rain added to a river that is already rank
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.



Calmly and silently he watched her beauteous eyes
Suffused with salty tears implore to stay
And heard unmoved in her plenteous sighs,
Which said far more than words can utter or say?
The village tyrannous folks have their deep empathy
For this love connection harmony



Though keen the grief that her tears express,
When love and hope lay both overthrown;
Yet still, this girl, this forest nymph, this bleeding breast
Throbbed, with deep sorrow, as his very own.
The village judges already declared this love deal
Will never grow feathers will no not be real



'The fair witch doubles, doubles, her toils and troubles;
As she prepares the tongues of the fire
To burn under her caldron foaming bubbles.
The fair forest witch never does rest nor tire
Helleway! hellello!
Here comes the forest witch acid stew



A fillet of a fanny scalped snake,
In her caldron boils, fumes and bakes;
She cuts and throws an eye of a newt and toe of a green frog,
Adds a wool of black bat and tongue of a used to howling dog,
An adder's fork would not suffice unless augmented with a blind-worm's sting,
A slender lizard's leg and a long salamander's wing,



For a charm of powerful wichcraft trouble,
Like a hell-broth in her cardron boils and bubbles.
Double, double toils and trouble;
The fire burns and her caldron bubbles.
Then she cools it with a baboon's blood killed by her poisonous dart,
And the charm is final and firm; done her witchcraft.''



He amazed, seeing her in this on going distress
Could not help to aid her helplessness
He started brushing her natural gown, bent to her feet
To sweep off the angry roaming ants, who claimed her as a treat
By chance his lips came nearer to her brow
In such a tender and unpretentious posture, that raised her awe


The night high tide rushed and raked itself upon the stony sandy shore;
Along the rugged cliffs and chalky mossy low echoing caves
The violent wind moaned and mourned the vexed hoarse bay, seeming to deplore
All that were buried in the lake bottom and in the womb of its restless waves
Mined and hammered by corrosive tides, the hollow scared rough rock
Falling it shock the broad beach with long-resounding trembling shock,



It fell prone, and rushing from its lofty turf height,
Loud thundering on the ear of sullen dark, deserted, lonely night;
Above the desolate and stormy bay deep,
Gleamed the wan frightened moon, by floating mist oppress;
Yet here while night fowl, and brood with health, and labor sleep
The waves of the foaming lake sustained their ghost chase




The throng groaned and moaned to make an universal shout
That the near by lake trembled underneath her banks and shacked out
To hear the replication of their sound
Made in the lake concave shores around
The echo traveled by routes obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels and foul creatures only,




The village bells were ringing dreadfully in storm and from within
The silent enticing spring woods re-echoed a great din
Of people to each other direly crying and hollowing
As if it marked the end of some solemn civil gathering
But yet with means mournful stress that resembled a funeral
Village people that knew better times under circumstances prandial







Return! Return! Return!
His helpless, desolate cries echoed thru the forest deep and convex turns
Upon a dump mossy rock, faint and delirious he stopped and fell
His story was too anguish to carry; too burdening to tell
There was not a joy the world can give, like that it takes away
When the glow and glee of virgin thoughts decline dead, dull and decay



And the night fell on the air quiet chilly but not dark
The village hounds lend their screaming yells and loud bark
The thin gray cloud was spread sparingly on high
It covered but not hided the vaults of the sky
The moon was behind, and at full shape
And yet she seemed remotely small and out of grape




This is all done, and I am shivering in the cold gale
How happy, careless is the beetle that unfurls her plain sail
And soaring over the wavy wind gust
And flies over the refreshing blast
Unlike her I must from this beloved land be part, be gone
The burden is too hard, too suffocating to carry on



I could not have been what the village people have me been
For I could see what I have in this lessen forest nymph seen
Could I repose even once upon the warm breast
which constantly my utter happiness blest
I must seek for us both another zone
Leave behind life since I cannot love but that forest nymph one



It has been but yesterday that I saw these slaying eyes
Which gave me such heavenly bliss and the village colossus miseries
They will never understand that even I strive it will be but in vain
Never to think of her again
Once this magic love grabs you; and over you have grown
It will never fade; forever holds you and never be gone




Dreadful voices, ominous bells I am like some lone bird waiting for her mate
My anguish wearies my heart; my soul is desolate
Without her I look around and I cannot trace
Any piece of beauty; I ignore any friendly smile or a welcome face
Even in crowds and in village center I am still isolated and alone
As my sun sunk; as my day is gone










I search that light whose smile kindles the Universe love
Pray the beauty in which all things breath, work and move
The blessing which is out of the mortality domain
That our finitude cannot quench; the benediction that sustains love and spiritual gain
That fire which is in all of the world, on earth, air and sea
These words, these lines consume the clouds of cold mortality beaming on me


The soul and spirit of the Forest Nymph which I have invoked in my song
Descends on me; my spirit sail is forever driven
To remote shores; far from human throng
In voyage full of peril yet never to the tempest given
The soul of the Forest Nymph is like a summer night star
It beacons to me from the Universal abode where the Eternal are


Copy rights 2010
All rights reserved

Submitted: Sunday, May 26, 2013
Edited: Thursday, June 05, 2014

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