As I walked there, occasionally stopping to peer into some
shadowy glade or opening, and to listen, I was tempted again and
again to call the name of her I sought aloud; and still the fear
that by so doing I might bring some hidden danger on myself,
perhaps on her, made me silent. A strange melancholy rested on
the forest, a quietude seldom broken by a distant bird's cry.
How, I asked myself, should I ever find her in that wide forest
while I moved about in that silent, cautious way? My only hope
was that she would find me. It occurred to me that the most
likely place to seek her would be some of the old haunts known to
us both, where we had talked together. I thought first of the
mora tree, where she had hidden herself from me, and thither I
directed my steps. About this tree, and within its shade, I
lingered for upwards of an hour; and, finally, casting my eyes up
into the great dim cloud of green and purple leaves, I softly
called: "Rima, Rima, if you have seen me, and have concealed
yourself from me in your hiding-place, in mercy answer me--in
mercy come down to me now!" But Rima answered not, nor threw
down any red glowing leaves to mock me: only the wind, high up,
whispered something low and sorrowful in the foliage; and
turning, I wandered away at random into the deeper shadows.
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