TO S. W. V .

I N the woods! in the woods!
What tender twilight broods!
What flickering sunlights play
On the beech-tree's mottled gray,
As we sit this summer day
In the woods!

In the woods, in the woods,
What sacred solitudes!
The pine-tree soaring high
Spreads its hand out toward the sky
With murmured prayer and sigh,
In the woods.

In the woods, in the woods,
What low and soft preludes
Of winds the long aisles search,
Where the marble stems of birch
Are the pillars of this church
Of the woods!

In the woods, in the woods,
The brook's soft lapsing floods
Chant loud and low by turns,
Where, 'mid the plumed ferns,
The sumac's taper burns
In the woods!

In the woods, in the woods
What sweet and gracious moods
Fill the restless heart with calm,
Till it lifts its silent psalm
With the flowers that embalm
All the woods!