The Ballad of the Green Bough

In the quiet glade beneath the trees, A voice is whispering through the leaves, It brings the promise of the trees, And every sigh in nature weaves.

The ivy clings and the shadows creep, Above the flowers that softly sleep, The sacred song of every bird, Is whispered soft, or loud, or stirred.

From the rose whose beauty drops from thee, I know the sorrow of the breeze; Sweet as honey, sweet as thee! The heart doth ponder on these keys.

Let me lie where the fern-sprays beckon, Where all of nature’s joy is reckoned, Where twilight falls and the darkening night, Is wrapped in silver and the light.

So I sing with the heart of the trees, To all of nature, I humbly please, For in every rustling, a pulse reflects, The peace of earth in its perfect context.

• James Elroy Flecker