 | Poems |  |
90
GREENWOOD TREE.
Our host has spread beneath our tread
A broidered velvet woof,
Curtains of blue peep richly through
Our fretted palace-roof;
Well spent, say I, in forestry
Each summer day like this,
Till glow-worms light, owl-watchmen cry
Through our green metropolis!
A broidered velvet woof,
Curtains of blue peep richly through
Our fretted palace-roof;
Well spent, say I, in forestry
Each summer day like this,
Till glow-worms light, owl-watchmen cry
Through our green metropolis!
Like those that made in Arden shade
Their happy court of old,
We'll “fleet the time” as in the prime
Of the innocent Age of Gold;
And gently school with Dryad rule
The “forest burghers” here,
That will obey our gentle sway
From love and not from fear.
Their happy court of old,
We'll “fleet the time” as in the prime
Of the innocent Age of Gold;
And gently school with Dryad rule
The “forest burghers” here,
That will obey our gentle sway
From love and not from fear.
91
We will not take, for our pleasure's sake,
The life of bird or beast;
Of herb and fruit and wholesome root
We'll make our Eden feast;
All gay with crowns that give no frowns,
Leaf-woven diadems,
And jewels Earth unmined gives forth,
Her fragrant surface-gems.
The life of bird or beast;
Of herb and fruit and wholesome root
We'll make our Eden feast;
All gay with crowns that give no frowns,
Leaf-woven diadems,
And jewels Earth unmined gives forth,
Her fragrant surface-gems.
We've band and quire that never tire,
By their own music paid;
We've swarded spaces for dancing places;
For thought, calm aisles of shade.
And nooks as meet for converse sweet,
Or rest, or happy book,
Fresh with perfumes from growing blooms,
And the rustling of a brook.
By their own music paid;
We've swarded spaces for dancing places;
For thought, calm aisles of shade.
And nooks as meet for converse sweet,
Or rest, or happy book,
Fresh with perfumes from growing blooms,
And the rustling of a brook.
O wood and stream, how fair a dream—
How vain a dream is this!
We owe our life to thoughtful strife
With woe and wickedness.
Man must not spare to spell with care
And work out God's intent;
And know, thou wilt be charged with guilt
Who art but innocent.
How vain a dream is this!
We owe our life to thoughtful strife
With woe and wickedness.
Man must not spare to spell with care
And work out God's intent;
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Who art but innocent.
The Hermit wise (my friend replies)
With equal truth might say,
“This word for me, not do but be,
Has sempiternal sway.
Effect from cause in Nature's laws
Our succour little needs;
There may be debt for pardon yet
In thy most virtuous deeds.”
With equal truth might say,
“This word for me, not do but be,
Has sempiternal sway.
Effect from cause in Nature's laws
Our succour little needs;
There may be debt for pardon yet
In thy most virtuous deeds.”
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