 | Lyrics (1895) |  |
12
IN THE HEART OF THE WOOD
In the heart of the wood,
Where the beeches lean together,
I vowed, as I stood,
In the merry April weather,
I would build me a nest,
I would furl my weary wing,
I would sing myself to rest,
And awake to sing.
Where the beeches lean together,
I vowed, as I stood,
In the merry April weather,
I would build me a nest,
I would furl my weary wing,
I would sing myself to rest,
And awake to sing.
Along the grassy ride
I lingered pleasantly,
While the tall pines sighed
Like a falling, rising sea;
I heard the woodland things
Run swift beneath the trees,
And the pigeon clap his wings
And steer along the breeze.
I lingered pleasantly,
While the tall pines sighed
Like a falling, rising sea;
I heard the woodland things
Run swift beneath the trees,
And the pigeon clap his wings
And steer along the breeze.
13
On the downs I paced,
Where the swift cloud-shadows pass,
When the east wind raced,
Singing thin in the grass;
While the smoky arc was spread
O'er the city, leagues away,
Like a pall above the dead,
In silence and dismay.
Where the swift cloud-shadows pass,
When the east wind raced,
Singing thin in the grass;
While the smoky arc was spread
O'er the city, leagues away,
Like a pall above the dead,
In silence and dismay.
But the busy autumn came
With calm and frosty breath,
In his eye a restless flame,
In his hand a dying wreath;—
As he bared his cruel brow,
The beech grew red as blood;
The birds were silent now
In the heart of the wood.
With calm and frosty breath,
In his eye a restless flame,
In his hand a dying wreath;—
As he bared his cruel brow,
The beech grew red as blood;
The birds were silent now
In the heart of the wood.
14
Then November hurried by
With his white and haggard face,
And the slow rain blurred the sky
Where the ragged vapours race;
And the tall trees cried,
With a drear and desperate sound,
And life before it died
Sank failing under ground;
With his white and haggard face,
And the slow rain blurred the sky
Where the ragged vapours race;
And the tall trees cried,
With a drear and desperate sound,
And life before it died
Sank failing under ground;
And the slow drops fell
On the rotting leaf all day,
And a strange and dying smell
In the silent wood-walks lay,
And the chill mist brooded late
Over many a dripping rood,
And I shuddered as I sate
In the heart of the wood.
On the rotting leaf all day,
And a strange and dying smell
In the silent wood-walks lay,
And the chill mist brooded late
Over many a dripping rood,
And I shuddered as I sate
In the heart of the wood.
| Lyrics (1895) | |