Classic Poem

Let us go to the woods — 'tis a bright sunny day:
They are mowing the grass, and at work with the hay.
Come over the meadow and scent the fresh air,
For the pure mountain breezes are every where.
We'll follow this winding path up to the hills,
And spring with a lightsome foot over the rills.

Up — up — it grows sweeter the higher we get,
With the flowers of the season that linger here yet:
Nay — pause not to gaze at the landscape now;
It is finer when seen from the high hill's brow.
We will gather all curious flowers as we go;
The sweet and the scentless, and those that bend low;
The pale and the gaudy, the tiny, the tall,
From the vine, from the shrub, we will gather them all.

Now here's the clematis all graceful and fair;
You may set it like pearls in the folds of your hair.
And if for your bosom you'd have a bouquet,
Here's the Meadow-pink , sweet, and the Touch-me-not gay,
Here's the full-blown Azaliae , perfuming the air,
Here's the Cardinal-flower , that a princess might wear.
And the wild mountain Phlox , pink and purple and blue,
And Star-flowers , both white and of golden hue.
And here's a bright blossom, a gay one indeed,
Our mountain-maids name it the Butterfly-weed ,
So gorgeous its colours, one scarcely can tell
If the flower or the insect in beauty excel.

Here's the low dwarf Acacia , that droops as it grows,
And its leaves, as you gather them, tremble and close.
And near us, I know by her breath on the gale,
Is the tall yellow Primrose so pretty and pale.

Here's the Pigeon-Pea , fit for a fairy's bowers, —
And the purple Thrift , straightest and primmest of flowers.
Here is Privet; no prettier shrub have we met,
And the Midsummer Daisy is hiding here yet.

But stay — We are now on the high hill's brow!
How bright lie the fields in the sun light below!
Do you see those white chimneys that peep o'er the grove?
'Tis you own little cottage, the home that you love —
Let us go by the fields where the chinquapins are,
And through the long lane where the Chesnuts hang fair,
They are scarcely yet ripe, but their tender green
Looks lovely the dark clustering foliage between: —
And we'll stop at the nest that we found in the wood,
And see if the black-bird hath flown with her brood:
And we'll list to the mocking-bird , wondering thereat,
Till he pauses, as if to ask " who can do that?"
We will listen and gaze; for the lowliest thing
Some lesson of worth to the mind can bring.
If we read nature's book with a serious eye,
Not a leaf, but some precious thought on it doth lie:
And 'tis good to go forth among scenes like these,
Amid music and sunshine, and flowers and trees,
If 'twere only to waken the deep love that springs
At the sight of all lovely and innocent things.