The Singing Wood

by Margaret Widdemer

I FOLLOWED far from the roadway
  After my golden ball
(How could I tell the way it went
  Where it might lie or fall?)
And coaxing vines from the Singing Wood
  Came twining around my feet
And scent of flowers from the Singing Wood
  Oh, it was sweet, was sweet!

Once I met a satyr,
  Once I was with a faun,
Once I spoke with a woman o' doom
  Spinning from dusk till dawn,
Once I followed a will-o'-the-wisp
  Dancing along the fen . . .
Never the sun in the Singing Wood
  Never a bird-loud glen!

All the trees were sighing,
  All of the brooks were tears,
All of the flowers were bleeding-hearts
  Scarlet with hopes and fears,
All of the vines were hands that clung
  Twisting about my heart . . .
Oh, the thorns of the Singing Wood
  Sharp they can tear and smart!

I might have won to the rainbow's end,
  But never for all o' me
Shall my feet stray into the Singing Wood
  For any fair things that flee . . .
Here on earth are the day and night,
  Human women and men–
And oh, 'tis good to be out o' the wood,
  Into the world again!