Poems (Stephens)/In the woods

by Eliza Jane Stephens

IN THE WOODS.

Here in the woods the grass is tall,
 But lowly bends as if to hear
The hosts of nature hastening;
 To beautify and bless the year.

The breeze has blown the old dry loaves
 From off the fragrant winter green,
And winter clover fresh and bright
 In pretty rivalry is seen.

Here's wind flower and the drooping fern,
 And moss in blossom under trees,
Jack in the pulpit preaching, too,
 A sermon that is sure to please.

Here's oak and chestnut, maple, beech,
 Hemlock and cedar, trembling pine,
The lowly shrub, and rankling weed,
 And here and there a clasping vine.

Beside the brook is liverwort
 And violets both white and blue,
The Mayflower in a wealth of bloom
 And beautiful strange orchids, too

Here little squirrels frisk about,
 But watch me with attentive eye,
And rabbits sit in underbrush
 And peer around alert and shy.

Here's music perfect, of its kind,
 Now soft and low, then loud and strong,
As robin, thrush and wren unite
 In one unceasing flow of song.

Sure, here is pleasure true for those
 Possessed of hearing and of sight;
Nothing that will the senses pall,
 A healthful and a pure delight.