Furious storms have perished far away
Thawing at nameless horizons of hope,
Life gropes for its restless throne astray
As phantom mists flood in from mound and slope.

Dismal fog ambles in the tacit wood
Gliding upon the hedges and past the stalks,
Shrouding the frail ground with an ashen hood,
Sternly hushing at once the woodland folks.

A scent of sodden moss and battered leaves
Rouses the lethargy of the veiled soil,
Through the banks of mist and the slender weaves
The still forest stirs from its drowsing toil.

Listen: A falling branch, a faint twitter,
A crystal drop trickles in a dewpond.
Every tree kindles a tender glitter:
The elves awaken, the forests respond!

A sifting ray breaks through the brittle clouds,
Whirling in the moist and overcast air,
Dispelling and melting the foggy shrouds
For the sun to shine on gloom and despair!