O fairest of the rural maids!
Thy birth was in the forest shades;
And all the beauty of the place
Is in thy heart and on thy face.
The twilight of the trees and rocks
Is in the light shade of thy locks,
Thy step is as the wind that weaves
Its playful way among the leaves.
Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene
And silent waters heaven is seen;
Their lashes are the herds that look
On their young figures in the brook.
The forest depths by foot unpress'd
Are not more sinless than thy breast;
The holy peace that fills the air
Of those calm solitudes is there.
--_William Cullen Bryant_