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. Any Mother
2. 'Mid the Piteous Heaps of Dead
3. Unhousel'd, Unanointed, Unanel'd
4. The Convent Garden
5. His Footstep

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