A Reed by the River/Palilia

by Virginia Woodward Cloud

PALILIA

Still doth sweet Pales, through our April field
With ghostly shepherds glide, ere night be nigh;
Still purple mystery their torches yield,
Incense of olive, box and rosmary;
Ay, down dim Aprils still Narcissus flies,
With glimpse of yellow hair across the grass,
And the immortal blue of longing eyes,
Looks forth from every violet we pass:
Whilst even I, 'mid jar of noises rude,
May break Care's bond and speed a little span
Through fields of thought, find Echo's solitude,
And hear, far off, the thrilling pipe of Pan!