Into the wood—the dark, dark wood—
Forth went the happy Child;
And, in it’s stillest solitude,
Talked to herself, and smiled:
And closer drew the scarlet Hood
About her ringlets wild.
And now at last she threads the maze,
And now she need not fear;
Frowning, she meets the sudden blaze
Of moonlight falling clear;
Nor trembles she, nor turns, nor stays,
Although the Wolf be near.