The Forest

In the green depth of the wide, still wood;
Where the trees look up with their heads in prayer;
While the paths are dim with a shadowy mood,
The melody murmurs alone in the air.

Here the violets breathe their perfume,
In the shy, cloistered glade, so sweet;
While the dappled lights with a flick’ring bloom
Dance about where the wild things meet.

• G L D Mackay