Poems (Henderson)/A Forest Sketch
A FOREST SKETCH.
Oh! the cool and dewy freshness,
Of the forest depths in June,
And the wild-bird's note a swelling,
And the cricket's sorrowing tune.
Where the twisted branches woven,
With the wood-bine's clustering sprays,
Shut out the sunrays from the quiet,
Of those darkened woodland ways.
Of the forest depths in June,
And the wild-bird's note a swelling,
And the cricket's sorrowing tune.
Where the twisted branches woven,
With the wood-bine's clustering sprays,
Shut out the sunrays from the quiet,
Of those darkened woodland ways.
All the wild-vines crept and gathered,
Round our old-time trysting place,
Mossy rock where queer old lichens,
Clustered on its storm beat face.
And I know my heart beat quicker,
When thy footstep in the leaves,
Scared the squirrel, harvesting,
'Neath the chestnut's spreading eaves.
Round our old-time trysting place,
Mossy rock where queer old lichens,
Clustered on its storm beat face.
And I know my heart beat quicker,
When thy footstep in the leaves,
Scared the squirrel, harvesting,
'Neath the chestnut's spreading eaves.
Oh! the tender rapturous kisses,
And the perfume faint and sweet,
Of the new mown hay a-drying,
In the June-tide's fervid heat.
Love was sweet, and Youth was golden,
Skies were bright and blue above,
And no life is worth the living,
That has not a garnered love.
And the perfume faint and sweet,
Of the new mown hay a-drying,
In the June-tide's fervid heat.
Love was sweet, and Youth was golden,
Skies were bright and blue above,
And no life is worth the living,
That has not a garnered love.
