 | Peace and other poems |  |
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BURNHAM BEECHES
Pleasant glades of Burnham, with your beeches' flaring glories,
With your high and heathery upland, and sweet leafy dell,
I have often wandered thro' you, very joyful and high-hearted,
But I come to-day in sadness, for I come to say farewell.
With your high and heathery upland, and sweet leafy dell,
I have often wandered thro' you, very joyful and high-hearted,
But I come to-day in sadness, for I come to say farewell.
Northward from the heath lies the deep enchanted forest,
Secret, still and beautiful, in sun or shade or shower,
You smile as though you guarded a quiet happy secret,
Leafy-roofed, high-branching, with your brown and rustling floor.
Secret, still and beautiful, in sun or shade or shower,
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Leafy-roofed, high-branching, with your brown and rustling floor.
There are birds within the thickets singing proudly, singing sweetly,
There are trees that talk together, by the merry breezes fanned,
There are streams that leap to daylight out of cool and hidden channels,
They would whisper me the secret if I could but understand.
There are trees that talk together, by the merry breezes fanned,
There are streams that leap to daylight out of cool and hidden channels,
They would whisper me the secret if I could but understand.
Onward, onward, say the breezes; to the unknown land before us,
From the golden gates of morning to the low-hung mists of eve;
Sing birds, and ripple waters, and tall trees talk together!
I have tasted of your gladness, and I will not dare to grieve.
From the golden gates of morning to the low-hung mists of eve;
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I have tasted of your gladness, and I will not dare to grieve.
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