THE WOOD WOOING

The woods are now in their summer sigh And the breeze has had its burnish close,
As I wander in the shadowy vale,
Where cool green shadows back and forth
Beneath the whispering leaf they trail.

A sudden bird-call, quick as thought,
Takes the angel shape of a gleam on high;
And the frail branches, lilac-blown,
With their stir of pearls put on the rose,
Will tremble softly, sweet with sigh.

White clouds like lily-pads drift above
On the waters of the deep blue sky;
And beneath the flow’rs of the open wood
The summer seems at her will to play,
With half-closed lids she burns my cheek.

I feel the shaking sun upon my brow
And the warm night has made her way;
But the other winds where I awake
With younger hearts and sighing cries
Have magian eyes that kindle joy.

O woods, you’re a sanctuary white,
And I tread no longer meek along the way,
But stand in worship at your altar laid
With flowers of beauty, filled with love—
O woods! from the heights of the day.

• Bliss Carman