The Way Of The Wood

WHERE baby oaks play in the breeze Among wood-sorrel and fringed fern, Through the green garments of the trees The quivering shafts of sunlight burn, And all along the wet green ride The dripping hazel-boughs between, The spotted orchis, stiff with pride, Stands guard before the eglantine. Sweet chestnuts droop their long, sharp leaves By knotted tree roots, mossed and brown, Round which the honeysuckle weaves Its scented golden wild-wood crown. O wood, last year you saw us meet, For her your leaves and buds were gay, Your moss spread velvet for her feet. Your flowers upon her bosom lay. This year you wear your raiment bright, As fair as ever yet you wore. And, none the less, the world's delight Walks in your ways no more, no more.