The Crisp Green

I cling to the crisp green of the world,
Where tulips plunge with faith so near,
I wonder and tremble the dreams unhurled,
As the pines are combing with clear —
Ah! dear, how gently I catch that sigh
That loud tones from sorrows flood —
In each forest walk I feel you pass by
As the half concealed hush of the wood.

— James Collinson

• James Collinson