_Not unto the forest--not unto the forest, O my lover!
Why do you lead me to the forest?_
Joy is where the temples are, lines of dancers swinging far,
Drums and lyres and viols in the town
(_It is dark in the forest_)
And the flapping leaves will blind me and the clinging vines will bind me
And the thorny rose-boughs tear my saffron gown--
_And I fear the forest._
_Not unto the forest--not unto the forest, O my lover!
There was one once who led me to the forest:_
Hand in hand we wandered mute, where was neither lyre nor flute,
Little stars were bright against the dusk
(_There was wind in the forest_)
And the thicket of wild rose breathed across our lips locked close
Dizzy perfumings of spikenard and musk....
_I am tired of the forest._
_Not unto the forest--not unto the forest, O my lover!
Take me from the silence of the forest!_
I will love you by the light and the beat of drums at night
And echoing of laughter in my ears,
_But here in the forest_
I am still, remembering a forgotten, useless thing,
And my eyelids are locked down for fear of tears--
_There is memory in the forest._
_The Craftsman_ _Margaret Widdemer_