Oh, give me that sustainable voice of the wood, Of limbs wrapped tightly, each twining with the rest, Of scents that reverberate like hills out to feel,

Winding by water, rowing out of the calm—
Oh, feign me not from the wear and tear
That passed all dormant sound, my love.

Share with me the slips, the tolls quite innocent,
And winds that shall never disappear Of night settled across nature’s hearth.

A garden far from bloom, yet the spirit has The will of nature to fathom much depth. So tonight let us join as one with the rustle in the dark.

• Robert Frost