In the Woods

The sunlight ripens the dew, And through the trees, O’er the mossy roots, We hear the sweet whispers; The brook flows, And the hungry bees, Gathering sweet flowers from every shade, Make the song of summer, Under the trees.

I love the mighty woods, They open their arms, To the blue of the sky, And emerald of grass, Keep me that I shall not fade, Like the flower—but leave away, With the pluck and sweetness, To hold nature in me.

• Elizabeth Palmer Peabody