THE YELLOW PINE
I donot like the cloistered woodAnd little goodI find in forest gloom,I much prefer the elbow-roomOf well-spaced groves, earth kempt and freeOf undergrowth; to beRespectfully removed, with greenAnd pleasant interludes between,And in the middle distance seeMy fellows grouped fraternallyAgainst a haze of blue; beyond, a mazeOf trunks receding till they allSeem drawn together in a wallWhere every treeIs lost in dark uncertainty.
I donot like the cloistered woodAnd little goodI find in forest gloom,I much prefer the elbow-roomOf well-spaced groves, earth kempt and freeOf undergrowth; to beRespectfully removed, with greenAnd pleasant interludes between,And in the middle distance seeMy fellows grouped fraternallyAgainst a haze of blue; beyond, a mazeOf trunks receding till they allSeem drawn together in a wallWhere every treeIs lost in dark uncertainty.
I donot like the cloistered woodAnd little goodI find in forest gloom,I much prefer the elbow-roomOf well-spaced groves, earth kempt and freeOf undergrowth; to beRespectfully removed, with greenAnd pleasant interludes between,And in the middle distance seeMy fellows grouped fraternallyAgainst a haze of blue; beyond, a mazeOf trunks receding till they allSeem drawn together in a wallWhere every treeIs lost in dark uncertainty.
A strangeUnearthly beauty I have knownWhen like a hyacinth full-blownI’ve stoodUpon a winter morning in the wood.
A strangeUnearthly beauty I have knownWhen like a hyacinth full-blownI’ve stoodUpon a winter morning in the wood.
A strangeUnearthly beauty I have knownWhen like a hyacinth full-blownI’ve stoodUpon a winter morning in the wood.
A strangeUnearthly beauty I have knownWhen like a hyacinth full-blownI’ve stoodUpon a winter morning in the wood.
Or better stillThe isolated grandeur of a hill,Just as the day is done,To watch the sunHit full my western sideAnd splash my alligator’s hideOf burnished copper scales with golden light;To see me so, against the purple nightBanked high upon some eastern range,Is well—but there is yet a strangeUnearthly beauty I have known,When like a hyacinth full-blown,I’ve stoodUpon a winter morning in the woodTransfigured in the snow,Until the wind would blowAnd thenI’d find myself a tree again.
Or better stillThe isolated grandeur of a hill,Just as the day is done,To watch the sunHit full my western sideAnd splash my alligator’s hideOf burnished copper scales with golden light;To see me so, against the purple nightBanked high upon some eastern range,Is well—but there is yet a strangeUnearthly beauty I have known,When like a hyacinth full-blown,I’ve stoodUpon a winter morning in the woodTransfigured in the snow,Until the wind would blowAnd thenI’d find myself a tree again.
Or better stillThe isolated grandeur of a hill,Just as the day is done,To watch the sunHit full my western sideAnd splash my alligator’s hideOf burnished copper scales with golden light;To see me so, against the purple nightBanked high upon some eastern range,Is well—but there is yet a strangeUnearthly beauty I have known,When like a hyacinth full-blown,I’ve stoodUpon a winter morning in the woodTransfigured in the snow,Until the wind would blowAnd thenI’d find myself a tree again.