Pebbles and Shells (Hawkes collection)/Communion with Nature

by Clarence Hawkes

COMMUNION WITH NATURE

I hold this true—it is not solitude
Alone to wander through the trackless wood,
To pierce the deepest dells of spruce and pines,
Where overhead the fair clematis twines,
Where 'neath your feet the soft moss sinks and swells,
More fair than Persian rugs or rich Brussels!
To climb the rugged steeps where stately stand
Like giant sentries to the lower land
The lordly oaks, more spreading than the pine,
Upon whose trunks the wild grape clusters shine;
What sky-born palace of the ancient time,
Relumed by limnel brush, or poet's rhyme,
Can match this peerless palace of the trees?
With roof and dome and tower and graceful frieze
All fashioned with a patience and an art,
Through centuries, that wrought each tiny part.

Let rich men boast their beds of softest down,
Upon the woodland moss I lay me down,
Where flowers and ferns and grass all interlace,
To make my weary head a resting place.
There far above me for a frescoed wall,
The woodland green is stretching over all,
Save where the friendly branches parting high,
Have left a place to view the summer sky.
From bough to bough the nimble squirrel springs,
And in each tree a plumed minstrel sings;
Among the fallen leaves are busy ants,
Rich treasures to the mind that knows their haunts,
And loves to watch them build their little domes,
And blend in one a thousand happy homes;
Or see the spider spin his rainbow gauze,
Obedient to some hidden unknown laws.

But if I lacked companions in the wood,
The forest stream would woo me to its flood,
For like this torrent fleeing from its home,
Impatient of delay I love to roam;
Down stony steeps to plunge in mad career,
Or walk beside it, running deep and clear,
To saunter with it through the woodland glen,
And dream apace afar from haunts of men,
But ever onward to the boundless sea,
To enter there and know its mystery.