The Multitude

They are too many, the trees, The herbs and the flowers, Their beauty like music Tangles in the senses, And tatters the breath as it rises.

The thousands of ferns, Are gentle, and spread With the sweetness of a smile On the cool green banks of the stream.

I love them, the leaves, And the whispered silence of the woods, But too many they are, and too much, For I am lonely in the multitude.

• A R D Fairburn