WOOD AND FIELD AND RUNNING BROOK WALDEINSAMKEIT I Do not count the hours I spend Like God it useth me. In plains that room for shadows make Bound in by streams which give and take Or on the mountain-crest sublime, O what have I to do with time? Cities of mortals woe-begone But in the serious landscape lone Sheen will tarnish, honey cloy, And merry is only a mask of sad, But, sober on a fund of joy, The woods at heart are glad. There the great Planter plants Of fruitful worlds the grain, "When in the Woods I Wander" 1355 Still on the seeds of all he made The rose of beauty burns; Through times that wear and forms that fade, Immortal youth returns. The black ducks mounting from the lake, The pigeon in the pines, The bittern's boom, a desert make Which no false art refines. Down in yon watery nook, Where bearded mists divide, The gray old gods whom Chaos knew, Aloft, in secret veins of air, Blows the sweet breath of song, See thou bring not to field or stone Leave authors' eyes, and fetch your own, Oblivion here thy wisdom is, Thy thrift, the sleep of cares; For a proud idleness like this Crowns all thy mean affairs. Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882] "WHEN IN THE WOODS I WANDER ALL ALONE" WHEN in the woods I wander all alone, The woods that are my solace and delight, Which I more covet than a prince's throne, My toil by day and canopy by night; (Light heart, light foot, light food, and slumber light, 66 Whilst here I wander, pleased to be alone, Edward Hovell-Thurlow [1781-1829] ASPECTS OF THE PINES TALL, somber, grim, against the morning sky As if from realms of mystical despairs. Tall, somber, grim, they stand with dusky gleams Brightening to gold within the woodland's core, Beneath the gracious noontide's tranquil beams,But the weird winds of morning sigh no more. A stillness, strange, divine, ineffable, Broods round and o'er them in the wind's surcease, And on each tinted copse and shimmering dell Rests the mute rapture of deep hearted peace. Last, sunset comes-the solemn joy and might Borne from the West when cloudless day declines— Low, flute-like breezes sweep the waves of light, And, lifting dark green tresses of the pines, Till every lock is luminous, gently float, Fraught with hale odors up the heavens afar, To faint when twilight on her virginal throat Wears for a gem the tremulous vesper star. Paul Hamilton Hayne [1830-1886] 'THE WOODS THAT BRING THE SUNSET NEAR" THE wind from out the west is blowing; When o'er wide seas the sun declines, This house that looks to east, to west, UNDER THE LEAVES OFT have I walked these woodland paths, To-day the south-wind sweeps away O prophet-flowers!-with lips of bloom, The pearly tints of ocean shells,— Walk life's dark ways, ye seem to say, That where man sees but withered leaves, God sees sweet flowers growing. Albert Laighton [1829-1887] "ON WENLOCK EDGE" ON Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble; 'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger When Uricon the city stood: "Tis the old wind in the old anger, But then it threshed another wood. Then, 'twas before my time, the Roman There, like the wind through woods in riot, The gale, it plies the saplings double, Alfred Edward Housman [1859 "WHAT DO WE PLANT?" WHAT do we plant when we plant the tree? What do we plant when we plant the tree? What do we plant when we plant the tree? A thousand things that we daily see; |