IN THE WOODS
Secluded in a sylvan vale,
Where I the subtle scents inhale
Of sun-steeped barks and list
The insects thrum their tiny lyres;
The bird-songs from high, hidden choirs,
And croak of frogs in distant mires—
Hoarse voice of the mist!—
Where I the subtle scents inhale
Of sun-steeped barks and list
The insects thrum their tiny lyres;
The bird-songs from high, hidden choirs,
And croak of frogs in distant mires—
Hoarse voice of the mist!—
Where massive trees, like shade-gowned priests
Do minister perpetual feasts
To body, heart and brain,
Here oft with Memory I stray,
To dream that the dead Yesterday,—
All its "has beens" still pliant clay—
Is come to life again!
Do minister perpetual feasts
To body, heart and brain,
Here oft with Memory I stray,
To dream that the dead Yesterday,—
All its "has beens" still pliant clay—
Is come to life again!
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