The Comrades Poems Old & New: By William Canton |
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The Cry of the Wood |
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 | The Comrades |  |
36
The Cry of the Wood
“What cheer?” cried the Rock to the Wood;
“The season is chill;
‘Green pastures’ no longer are green,
nor ‘still waters’ still;
The colour of life has been shed—
the faëry fire
Been volleyed in gusts from the boughs
and pashed in the mire;
My lichens are prickly with frost
in hollow and seam;
My cup, where the rain glassed the deeps
of heaven like a dream—
My rain, where the little blue bird
alighted to drink,
Is ice; and my single wild flower
is dead on the brink!
What cheer—in the cold and the dark
and dead of the year—
What cheer?”
“The season is chill;
‘Green pastures’ no longer are green,
nor ‘still waters’ still;
The colour of life has been shed—
the faëry fire
Been volleyed in gusts from the boughs
and pashed in the mire;
My lichens are prickly with frost
in hollow and seam;
My cup, where the rain glassed the deeps
of heaven like a dream—
My rain, where the little blue bird
alighted to drink,
37
is dead on the brink!
What cheer—in the cold and the dark
and dead of the year—
What cheer?”
“What cheer!” cried the Wood. “In the cold
and tug of the wind,
The cheer of a heart in content,
a confident mind!
The gale, let it blow, let it bend,
my branches are strong;
My trees shall be harps in the gale,
and thunder a song!
The colour, the leaf, let it perish,
quenched in the dark—
Oh, never the poorer we,
on the inward side of the bark.
Ringed round by that magical rind,
we hold at our will
The vision of pastures green
and waters still.
What cheer!” cried the Wood to the Rock.
“Good cheer, do you hear?
Good cheer!”
and tug of the wind,
The cheer of a heart in content,
a confident mind!
The gale, let it blow, let it bend,
my branches are strong;
My trees shall be harps in the gale,
and thunder a song!
The colour, the leaf, let it perish,
quenched in the dark—
Oh, never the poorer we,
on the inward side of the bark.
Ringed round by that magical rind,
we hold at our will
The vision of pastures green
and waters still.
What cheer!” cried the Wood to the Rock.
“Good cheer, do you hear?
Good cheer!”
| The Comrades | |