Then wearily she went upon her way, And so, about the middle of the day, She came before a green and flowery place, Walled round about in manner of a chase, Whereof the gates as now were open wide; Fair grassy glades and long she saw inside Betwixt great trees, down which the unscared deer Were playing; yet a pang of deadly fear, She knew not why, shot coldly through her heart, And thrice she turned as though she would depart, And thrice returned, and in the gateway stood With wavering feet: small flowers as red as blood Were growing up amid the soft green grass, And here and there a fallen rose there was, And on the trodden grass a silken lace, As though crowned revellers had passed by the place The restless sparrows chirped upon the wall And faint far music on her ears did fall, And from the trees within, the pink-foot doves Still told their weary tale unto their loves, And all seemed peaceful more than words could say. Then she, whose heart still whispered, "Keep away." Was drawn by strong desire unto the place, So toward the greenest glade she set her face, Murmuring, "Alas! and what a wretch am I, That I should fear the summer's greenery! Yea, and is death now any more an ill, When lonely through the world I wander still." But when she was amidst those ancient groves, Whose close green leaves and choirs of moaning doves Shut out the world, then so alone she seemed, So strange, her former life was but as dreamed; Beside the hopes and fears that drew her on, Till so far through that green place she had won, That she a rose-hedged garden could behold Before a house made beautiful with gold; Which, to her mind beset with that past dream, And dim foreshadowings of ill fate, did seem That very house, her joy and misery, Where that fair sight her longing eyes did see They should not see again; but now the sound Of pensive music echoing all around, Made all things like a picture, and from thence Bewildering odours floating, dulled her sense, And killed her fear, and, urged by strong desire To see how all should end, she drew yet nigher, And o'er the hedge beheld the heads of girls Embraced by garlands fresh and orient pearls, And heard sweet voices murmuring; then a thrill Of utmost joy all memory seemed to kill Of good or evil, and her eager hand Was on the wicket, then her feet did stand Upon new flowers, the while her dizzied eyes Gazed wildly round on half-seen mysteries, And wandered from unnoting face to face. For round a fountain midst the flowery place Did she behold full many a minstrel girl; While nigh them, on the grass in giddy whirl, Bright raiment and white limbs and sandalled feet Flew round in time unto the music sweet, Whose strains no more were pensive now nor sad, But rather a fresh sound of triumph had; And round the dance were gathered damsels fair,