‘Nymphs’ by Katharine Tynan.

Nymphs Where are ye now, O beautiful girls of the mountain, Oreads all ? Nothing at all stirs here save the drip of the fountain; Answer our call Only the heart-glad thrush, in the vale of Thrushes; Stirs in the brake But the dew-bright ear of the hare in his couch of rushes Listening, awake. [...]