Ina D. Coolbrith: Verses about Forest

Because the rose the bloom of blossoms is,
And queenliest in beauty and in grace,
The violet’s tender blue we love no less,
Or daisy, glancing up with shy, sweet face.

For all the music which the forest has,
The ocean waves, that crash upon the beach,
Still would we miss the whisper of the grass;
The hum of bees; the brooklet’s silver speech.

We would not have the timid wood-thrust mute
Because the bul-bul more divinely sings,
Nor lose the scarlet of dear robin’s throat,
For all the tropics’ flash of golden wings.

So do I think, though weak we be, and small,
Yet is there One whose care is none the less:
Who finds, perchance, some grain of worth in all,
Or loves us for our very humbleness!

Into the quiet woods
Come from the glare and heat
Of the paven street!
Out of the jar and fret
And the jangling noises!
Here sweet contentment broods;
Here Nature’s voices
Make Memory’s self forget
The cark and care, and lull
Life’s warring sounds to stillness beautiful.

In the leaf-solitudes,
O welcoming woods,
What peace of silence broods!
The silence of soft sounds! The silken sweep
Of winds through branches deep;
The whir of wings; the squirrel’s rustling leap;
The songs of birds-
Those untaught melodies too glad for words;
The water-lullabies; the speech
Of tree and leaf, each whispering to each;
The magic undefined
To heart and mind-
Come to the quiet woods-
The peaceful woods!

A meadow greenly carpeted:
A strip of woodland, brown and cool,
Through which the wandering pathway led
Unto the village school:

The little pathway he and I,
Across the happy summer-land,
In happy summer times gone by,
Trod, daily, hand in hand.

The mountain stream, far off, that drew
Its glittering length across the farm,
Reached softly down the vale, and threw
The path one cool, white arm;

And careless as the truant tide
That flashed its crystal in the sun,
Or slipped along the woodland side,
Our wayward feet would run.

Through tangled ferns, up furzy slopes,
Where the broad forest shadows fell,
Through golden seas of buttercups,
Wind-rippled, down the dell;

We plashed the foamy water-brink,
We followed on the rabbit’s track,
And rang the merry bobolink
His saucy challenge back.

How tenderly, from stone to stone,
Where the deep stream ran swift and clear,
He led my timid footsteps on-
My gay, young cavalier!

He knew each haunt of bird and bee;
The secret of each nestling brood;
He mimicked every melody
That thrilled the listening wood;

With many a carved and quaint design,
Would fashion acorns into beads,
Chains of the needles of the pine,
And whistles out of reeds.

Ah! many a time the brave voice spake,
An earnest pleader in my cause;
The tanned, round hand went out to take
Dire strokes for broken laws;
And many a prompting, timely said,
The master’s dreaded anger turned
From the small, idle, flaxen head
Whose tasks were yet unlearned!

What quaint, sweet summer gifts he brought!
A white pond-lily, filled to th’ brim
With scarlet berries; buds, half shut;
Gold fruits on leaf and limb;

Some wide-blown flower with tawny dyes;
A butterfly with jeweled wing,
Or captive bird, with frighted eyes
And wee heart, fluttering.

Dear playmate! in those golden ways
Your heart found rest: my heart endures:
But, through the weary days and days,
Life gives no love like yours!

Life gives no faith! Ah, child-mate, dear,
When the appointed years shall fall
From off me, as a cloud, and near
And clear I hear the call-

And the new way is strange to me,
Reach thou, and lead me, hand-in-hand,
As down the path of old, till we
Before the Master stand!

There yet once more thy brave voice raise,
O playmate! in thy truant’s cause,
For tasks unlearned, for wasted days,
For all His broken laws!

A meadow greenly carpeted,
A strip of woodland, brown and cool,
Through which the wandering pathway led
Unto the village school:

The little pathway he and I,
Across the happy summer-land,
In happy summer-times, gone by,
Trod, daily, hand-in-hand.

The mountain-stream, far off, the drew
Its glittering length across the farm,
Reached softly down the vale, and threw
The path one cool, white arm;

And, careless as the truant tide
That flashed its crystal in the sun,
Or crept along the woodland side,
Our wayward feet would run-

Through tangled ferns, up furzy slopes,
Where the broad forest-shadow fell;
Through golden seas of buttercups,
Wind-rippled-down the dell;

We splashed the foamy water-brink,
We followed on the rabbit’s track,
And rang the saucy bobolink
His merry challenge back.

How tenderly, from stone to stone,
Where the deep stream ran swift and clear,
He led my timid footsteps on-
My little cavalier!

He knew each haunt of bird and bee,
The secret of each nestling brood;
He echoed every melody
That thrilled the listening wood;

With many a carved and quaint design,
Would fashion acorns into beads,
Chains of the needless of the pine,
And whistles out of reeds.
Ah! many a time the brave voice spake,
An earnest pleader in my cause;
The tanned, round hand went out to take
Dire strokes for broken laws;

And many a prompting, timely said,
The master’s dreaded anger turned
From the small, idle, flaxen head
Whose tasks were yet unlearned!

What quaint, sweet summer gifts he brought:
A white pond-lily filled to th’ brim
With scarlet berries; buds, half shut;
Gold fruits on leaf and limb;

Some wide-blown flow’r with tawny dyes;
A butterfly with jeweled wing,
Or captive bird with frighted eyes
And wee heart fluttering!

Dear playmate, in those golden ways
Your heart found rest; my heart indures.
But, through the weary days and days,
Life gives no love like yours! -

Life gives no faith! Ah, child-mate dear!
When the appointed years shall fall
From off me, as a cloud, and near
And clear I hear the call,

And the new way is strange to me,
Reach thou, and lead me, hand-in-hand,
As down the path of old, till we
Before the Master stand!


There yet once more thy brave voice raise,
O playmate! In thy truant’s cause,
For tasks unlearned, for wasted days,
For all His broken laws!