AMBERGRIS 
25 
 
 
 
FROM MYSTERIES 
 
In the Woods with Shelley 
 
Sing, happy nightingale, sing ; 
Past is the season of weeping ; 
Birds in the wood are on wing, 
Lambs in the meadow are leaping. 
Can there be any delight still in the buttercups 
sleeping ? 
 
Dawn, paler daffodil, dawn ; 
Smile, for the winter is over ; 
Sunlight makes golden the lawn, 
Spring comes and kisses the clover ; 
All the wild woodlands await poet and songster and 
lover. 
 
Linger, dew, linger !  and gem 
All the fresh flowers in the garland ! 
Blossom, leaf, bud and green stem 
Flash with your light to some far land, 
Where men shall wonder if you be not a newly-
born starland. 
 
Ah !  The sweet scents of the woods ! 
Ah !  the sweet sounds of the heaven ! 
Sights of impetuous floods, 
Foam like the daisy at even, 
Folding o’er passionate gold petals that sunrise had 
riven ! 
 
See, like my life is the stream 
Now its desire is grown quiet ; 
Life was a passionate dream 
Once, when light fancy ran riot,