The Forest
In the forest old and dim, Where the mighty cedars swim, There the shafts of sunshine never fail, And the rippling brook is like a veil— Woven from thread of summer air, A canopy of beauty rare.
O thou silent realm of green, Where the dawn is ever seen, And the shades of night creep in, As the shadows grow and spin! Whither shall I roam and tread— Where thou dost not know, nor spread?
The song of birds, the rustling leaves, The endless hues of autumn sheaves— Here my heart is solace found, In the whispers all around. Such is the forest’s gentle call, Like a lover’s whisper, soft and small!
- George William Curtis