Each morning big drops
Bring calm—like fire
In foliage—the lace of life
Of green maxims wend
To find they shall lend.

As many hours pass— Thus to the crickets riding,
As gentle dew keeps days
Alive ‘neath climbing brinks;
While slow is the eye, no strain
Yet of ground firm and of each minute leaf in glee.

To be light—like spirits in a cast,
Where light means forrest and quiet breezes talk an opening cry—
Warmed within, the cypress tree
Leans back with swift embrace, again—to green!

• Gerard Manley Hopkins