When meadows are grey with the morn 
In the dusk of the woods it is night: 
The oak and the birch and the pine 
War with the glimmer of light. 

Dryads brown as the leaf 
Move in the gloom of the glade; 
When meadows are grey with the morn 
Dim night in the wood has delayed. 

The cocks that crow to the land 
Are faint and hollow and shrill:
Dryads brown as the leaf 
Whisper, and hide, and are still. 

Added: May 19 2005 | Viewed: 419 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Siegfried Sassoon
Poem: Dryads

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