As once when walking idly in a wood
I chanced upon a still, half-hid retreat
Untrod ere this by all save fairy feet
And, all abashed, I ventured not, but stood
Reverent before the forest's maidenhood;
Saving against a future day the sweet
Still memory of the silver ferns, the fleet
Bright water, the red cardinal, a good
Not to be reft away; - so in this book
I dare not enter deeply to profane
Its secret fastnesses; with awe I pore
Upon the silvern words, whose brightness took
From poet passion all its sacred stain,
But leave unswung the guardless inner door.