Volume Iii Part 22 (2/2)

For this the day was made.

Cities of mortals woe-begone Fantastic care derides, But in the serious landscape lone Stern benefit abides.

Sheen will tarnish, honey cloy, And merry is only a mask of sad, But, sober on a fund of joy, The woods at heart are glad.

There the great Planter plants Of fruitful worlds the grain, And with a million spells enchants The souls that walk in pain.

Still on the seeds of all he made The rose of beauty burns; Through times that wear and forms that fade, Immortal youth returns.

The black ducks mounting from the lake, The pigeon in the pines, The bittern's boom, a desert make Which no false art refines.

Down in yon watery nook, Where bearded mists divide, The gray old G.o.ds whom Chaos knew, The sires of Nature, hide.

Aloft, in secret veins of air, Blows the sweet breath of song, O, few to scale those uplands dare, Though they to all belong!

See thou bring not to field or stone The fancies found in books; Leave authors' eyes, and fetch your own, To brave the landscape's looks.

Oblivion here thy wisdom is, Thy thrift, the sleep of cares; For a proud idleness like this Crowns all thy mean affairs.

Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882]

”WHEN IN THE WOODS I WANDER ALL ALONE”

When in the woods I wander all alone, The woods that are my solace and delight, Which I more covet than a prince's throne, My toil by day and canopy by night; (Light heart, light foot, light food, and slumber light, These lights shall light us to old age's gate, While monarchs, whom rebellious dreams affright, Heavy with fear, death's fearful summons wait;) Whilst here I wander, pleased to be alone, Weighing in thought the worlds no-happiness, I cannot choose but wonder at its moan, Since so plain joys the woody life can bless: Then live who may where honied words prevail, I with the deer, and with the nightingale!

Edward Hovell-Thurlow [1781-1829]

OUT IN THE FIELDS

The little cares that fretted me, I lost them yesterday Among the fields above the sea, Among the winds at play, Among the lowing of the herds, The rustling of the trees, Among the singing of the birds, The humming of the bees.

The foolish fears of what might pa.s.s I cast them all away Among tile clover-scented gra.s.s, Among the new-mown hay, Among the hus.h.i.+ng of the corn, Where drowsy poppies nod, Where ill thoughts die and good are born-- Out in the fields of G.o.d.

Unknown [Has been erroneously attributed to Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Louise Imogen Guiney]

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