[Poems by Woolson in] Five generations (1785-1923) being scattered chapters from the history of the Cooper, Pomeroy, Woolson and Benedict families, with extracts From their Letters and Journals, as well as articles and poems by Constance Fenimore Woolson |
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PINE-BARRENS. |
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 | [Poems by Woolson in] Five generations (1785-1923) |  |
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PINE-BARRENS.
Abroad upon the Barrens, the Florida Pine-Barrens,
Where all the winds of heaven come to gambol wild and free,
With none to watch their races, save the flowers whose little faces
Look up with wonder as they rush across from sea to sea.
Where all the winds of heaven come to gambol wild and free,
With none to watch their races, save the flowers whose little faces
Look up with wonder as they rush across from sea to sea.
Abroad upon the Barrens, how wide the mighty heavens!
A thousand times more sky above than hangs o'er any town,
For nothing breaks its clearness in the farness or the nearness,
From zenith to horizon far rounding bluely down.
A thousand times more sky above than hangs o'er any town,
For nothing breaks its clearness in the farness or the nearness,
From zenith to horizon far rounding bluely down.
Abroad upon the Barrens the Southern pine-tree ripens
Its spicy cones in plumy green that swayeth soft on high:
Not closely set in vistas like its sober Northern sisters,
But each alone in feathery grace against the tropic sky.
Its spicy cones in plumy green that swayeth soft on high:
Not closely set in vistas like its sober Northern sisters,
But each alone in feathery grace against the tropic sky.
Abroad upon the Barrens the saw-palmetto reddens
The ground with arméd ranks that firm for centuries have stood;
They kneel and pray to Heaven that their sins may be forgiven,
Their long green knives in readiness, bold outlaws of the wood!
The ground with arméd ranks that firm for centuries have stood;
They kneel and pray to Heaven that their sins may be forgiven,
Their long green knives in readiness, bold outlaws of the wood!
Abroad upon the Barrens the care-worn soul awakens
From brooding on the long hard paths its weary feet have trod;
How little seem earth's sorrows, how far off the lost to-morrows,
How broad and free the Barrens lie, how very near to God!
From brooding on the long hard paths its weary feet have trod;
How little seem earth's sorrows, how far off the lost to-morrows,
How broad and free the Barrens lie, how very near to God!
| [Poems by Woolson in] Five generations (1785-1923) | |