Poems (Hazlett-Bevis)/The Woodland
The Woodland.
Oh, woodland dell, I know thee well, Thy echoes still do form a part Of treasures mine, Around the shrine Of holy love, that floods my heart.
Thy leafy bowers Are decked with flowers, From which the fairies rob perfume; And, Oh, how rare Thy jewels fair, When dewdrops gild thy heavenly bloom.
The breezes play At will away, With all thy glories—Nature's gifts; In frantic haste, They strew and waste Thy tinted leaves, and pile in drifts.
The tiny birds, In magic words, Are heard within thy beauteous screen, And to complete Thy charms so sweet, The laughing stream beneath is seen.
An emerald sheen Is spread between Thy fragrant earth and one who stands; Full well I know, This gem below,A distant glimpse of fairer lands.