Ode to the Woods, so deep and still,
Where the streams do bend and curl,
Where the light in shadows dwells,
And nature’s voice in silence swells.
Each leaf—a story softly spun,
Of where the breeze begins its run!

Let me wander here in grace,
In the presence of your face;
For the woods, they sing a call,
In their arms, I find my thrall.

• Sir Philip Sidney