I do not like the cloistered wood
And little good
I find in forest gloom,
I much prefer the elbow-room
Of well-spaced groves, earth kempt and free
Of undergrowth; to be
Respectfully removed, with green
And pleasant interludes between,
And in the middle distance see
My fellows grouped fraternally
Against a haze of blue; beyond, a maze
Of trunks receding till they all
Seem drawn together in a wall
Where every tree
Is lost in dark uncertainty.
[Illustration:
_A strange
Unearthly beauty I have known
When like a hyacinth full-blown
I’ve stood
Upon a winter morning in the wood._]
Or better still
The isolated grandeur of a hill,
Just as the day is done,
To watch the sun
Hit full my western side
And splash my alligator’s hide
Of burnished copper scales with golden light;
To see me so, against the purple night
Banked high upon some eastern range,
Is well—but there is yet a strange
Unearthly beauty I have known,
When like a hyacinth full-blown,
I’ve stood
Upon a winter morning in the wood
Transfigured in the snow,
Until the wind would blow
And then
I’d find myself a tree again.