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THE STRICKEN WOOD
Hast thou been visited by Death? How still
Thy voiceless congregation on the hill!
What of the dove? the squirrel? and thy vows
Of faith in change, expressed by falling boughs?
If but one syllable of song were heard,
If but the treading of a rabbit chanced,
If but a hedgehog in the bracken stirred,
I might believe this wood were not entranced.
Thy voiceless congregation on the hill!
What of the dove? the squirrel? and thy vows
Of faith in change, expressed by falling boughs?
If but one syllable of song were heard,
If but the treading of a rabbit chanced,
If but a hedgehog in the bracken stirred,
I might believe this wood were not entranced.
My heart, as though commanding such an hour
As long had been denied, increases power,
And, mastering me, till apprehension speaks
In every vein, and reddens in my cheeks,
So thunders on the anvil of my breast
That I would have thy thousand oaks belong
To windy harpers tuning crest and crest,
And forcing every branch of thine to song.
As long had been denied, increases power,
And, mastering me, till apprehension speaks
In every vein, and reddens in my cheeks,
So thunders on the anvil of my breast
That I would have thy thousand oaks belong
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And forcing every branch of thine to song.
How strangely sounds, above the clamorous beat,
The first and feeble trumpet of defeat!
How swiftly throng within the park of sense
The shapes of murders done amid a dense
Assembly of dishonoured trees! There slips
From out the northern edging of the wood
The stealthy image that for ever drips,
For ever threatens us, with murdered blood.
The first and feeble trumpet of defeat!
How swiftly throng within the park of sense
The shapes of murders done amid a dense
Assembly of dishonoured trees! There slips
From out the northern edging of the wood
The stealthy image that for ever drips,
For ever threatens us, with murdered blood.
A thousand harps, yet not a raptured string!
Such silence, that a drift of air might bring
The spoken fondness of a scarlet mouth
That names me in the woodlands of the South!
Pigeons and throstles somehow daunted there,
Resist the trance! Deliver Joy, and send
Consoling remedies along the air
To heal the dumbness of your stricken friend!
Such silence, that a drift of air might bring
The spoken fondness of a scarlet mouth
That names me in the woodlands of the South!
Pigeons and throstles somehow daunted there,
Resist the trance! Deliver Joy, and send
Consoling remedies along the air
To heal the dumbness of your stricken friend!
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