Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old, br Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree; br The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold, br And wolves still dread Diana roaming free br In secret woodland with her company. br 'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite br When now the wolds are bathed in silver light, br And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey, br Then down the dells, with blown soft hair and bright, br And through the dim wood Dian threads her way. br br With water-weeds twined in their locks of gold br The strange cold forest-fairies dance in glee, br Sylphs over-timorous and over-bold br Haunt the dark hollows where the dwarf may be, br The wild red dwarf, the nixies' enemy; br Then 'mid their mirth, and laughter, and affright, br The sudden Goddess enters, tall and white, br With one long sigh for summers pass'd away; br The swift feet tear the ivy nets outright br And through the dim wood Dian threads her way. br br She gleans her silvan trophies; down the wold br She hears the sobbing of the stags that flee br Mixed with the music of the hunting roll'd, br But her delight is all in archery, br And naught of ruth and pity wotteth she br More than her hounds that follow on the flight; br The goddess draws a golden bow of might br And thick she rains the gentle shafts that slay. br She tosses loose her locks upon the night, br And through the dim wood Dian threads her way. br br ENVOY. br br Prince, let us leave the din, the dust, the spite, br The gloom and glare of towns, the plague, the blight: br Amid the forest leaves and fountain spray br There is the mystic home of our delight, br And through the dim wood Dian threads her way.