Poem 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;
Answers 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.

1. Slow Spring
2. The Truce of God
3. The Crown
4. Dead - A Prisoner
5. Lambs

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