She walks, white-gowned, amid the glades of fir
Hushed by the music of the breeze among
The fretted leaves, one bird her chorister,
At hour of evensong.
Her robin sings upon a budding thorn
His vesper hymn, while in the radiant west
The red light dies, and purple shades are drawn
O’er forest aisles of rest.
Say, hath she come from some bright world unseen?
Her sweet grey eyes glow with a steadfast light,
As glow the stars, the altar-lights serene,
The Easter lilies white.
Yes! for she is the Angel of the Woods,
Into her charge are given the fir-trees tall,
The sweet-voiced birds, the tender primrose buds –
She loves and tends them all!
(source: Manx Song & Maiden Song by Mona Douglas, (1915); photo is from an unknown wallpaper site)