The Woods in May / Ellwood Roberts

The Woods in May

Otto P. Balle (1865-1916), A Pine Forest in May,

 1909 (detail). Wikimedia Commons.

There dwells a subtle fragrance
    Within the woods of May,
That baffles all description,
    Inviting us to stay.
Aroma of the spring-time,
    Of bursting buds it tells,
Of wild flowers bright unfolding
    From out their tiny cells.

The newborn leaves a tender
    And brilliant green display;
When come the heats of summer,
    It quickly flies away.
Among the trees we wander,
    With sense of keen delight;
We may not feel it later,
    Though sunshine be as bright.

Sweet Nature's resurrection
    From Winter's ice and snow,
Fills woods of May with beauty
    Beyond all else we know.
The fragrant honeysuckle,
    And dogwood flowers white,
Bloom here in all their glory,
    A vision of delight.

How natural to linger
    Among the woods of May,
So many wonders are there,
    Inviting us to stay.
Each bush and tree has treasures
    Of leaf, or bud, or flower;
No art is there like Nature's
    When she exerts her power.

A tender, new-born glory,
    The leaflets all display,
There dwells a subtle fragranc
    Around our path to-day;
It bids us pause and linger,
    Ere it be gone for aye.
What joy and peace and sweetness
    Within the woods of May!

~~
Ellwood Roberts (1846-1921)
From Lyrics of Quakerism, and other poems, 1895

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Ellwood Roberts biography

June Days / Charles Lotin Hildreth

June Days

Wane on, delicious days of shower and shine,
Cool, cloudy morns and noontides white and warm,
And eyes that melt in azure hyaline,
Wane to midsummer's long, lethean calm.

William Trost Richards
(1833-1905), June Day, 1915.
Wikimedia Commons.

For all the woods are shrill with stress of song,
Where soft wings flutter down to new-built nests,
And turbulent sweet sounds are heard day-long,
As of innumerable marriage feasts.

The flame of flowers is bright along the plain,
The hills are dim beneath pale, brooding skies;
And, like a kiss that thrills through every vein,
The warm wind, odor-laden, stirs and sighs,

Murmuring like music heard afar by night
From boats becalmed on star-illumined streams,
Sad as the memory of a lost delight,
Sweet as the voices that are heard in dreams.

Wane, siren days, and break the spell that wrings
The burdened breast with undefined regret,
Wayward desires, and vain imaginings,
The nameless longing, and the idle fret.

Wane on! ye wake the love that tempts and flies;
And where love is, thence peace departs full soon;
But, ah, how sweet love is, e'en though it dies
With thy last roses, O enchantress June!

~~
Charles Lotin Hildreth (1856-1896)
from The Masque of Death, and other poems, 1889

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Charles Lotin Hildreth biography

Before the Snow / George Parsons Lathrop

Tom Thompson (1877-1917), Autumn Birches, 1916. Wikimedia Commons.

Before the Snow

Autumn is gone: through the blue woodlands bare
    Shatters the rainy wind. A myriad leaves,
Like birds that fly the mournful Northern air.
    Flutter away from the old forest's eaves.

Autumn is gone: as yonder silent rill,
    Slow eddying o'er thick leaf-heaps lately shed,
My spirit, as I walk, moves awed and still,
    By thronging fancies wild and wistful led.

Autumn is gone: alas, how long ago
    The grapes were plucked, and garnered was the grain!
How soon death settles on us, and the snow
    Wraps with its white alike our graves, our gain!

Yea, autumn's gone! Yet it robs not my mood
    Of that which makes moods dear,— some shoot of spring
Still sweet within me; or thoughts of yonder wood
    We walked in,— memory's rare environing.

And, though they die, the seasons only take
    A ruined substance. All that's best remains
In the essential vision that can make
    One light for life, love, death, their joys, their pains.

~~
George Parsons Lathrop (1851-1898)
from Dreams and Days, 1892

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

George Parsons Lathrop biography

"Before the Snow" read for Audiobook Passion.

Canadian Autumn Tints / J.D Edgar

Canadian Autumn Tints

We wandered off together,
    We walked in dreamful ease,
In mellow autumn weather,
    Past autumn-tinted trees;
The breath of soft September
    Left fragrance in the air,
And well do I remember,
    I thought you true as fair.

The maples' deep carnations,
    The beeches' silv'ry sheen,
Hid nature's sad mutations,
    And I forgot the green:
Forgot the green of summer,
    The buds of early spring,
And gave the latest comer
    My false heart's offering.

O painted autumn roses!
    O dying autumn leaves!
Your beauty fades and closes,
    That gaudy hue deceives:
Like clouds that gather golden
    Around the setting sun,
Your glories are beholden
    Just ere the day is done.

Or, like th' electric flushes
    That fire Canadian skies,
Your bright and changeful blushes
    In gold and crimson rise.
But health has long departed
    From all that hectic glare;
And love sees, broken-hearted,
    The fate that's pictured there.

The brush that paints so brightly
    No mortal artist wields;
He touches all things lightly,
    But sweeps the broadest fields.
The fairest flowers are chosen
    To wither at his breath;
The hand is cold and frozen
    That paints those hues of death.

We wandered back together,
    With hearts but ill at ease,
In mellow autumn weather,
    Past autumn-tinted trees;
The breath of soft September
    Left fragrance in the air,
And well we both remember
    The love that ended there.

~~
J.D. Edgar (1841-1899)
from This Canada of Ours, and other poems, 1893

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

J.D.Edgar biography

Albert Bierstadt (1830-1902), Autumn Woods, 1886. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons.

The Grotto / Barry Cornwall

from Diego de Montilla

    LIV

And often to a grotto did he hie
    Which in a lone and distant forest stood,
Just like a wood-nymph's haunt; and he would lie
    Beneath the cover of its arch so rude,
For there when the August sun had mounted high,
    And all was silent but the stock-dove's brood,
The whispering zephyr sometimes 'rose unseen,
And kissed the leaves and boughs of tender green.


    LV

And every shrub that fond wind flatter'd cast
    Back a perfuming sigh, and rustling roll'd
Its virgin branches 'till they mov'd at last
    The neighbour tree, and the great forest old
Did homage to the zephyr as he past:
    And gently to and fro' the fruits of gold
Swayed in the air, and scarcely with a sound
The beeches shook their dark nuts to the ground.


    LVI

Before the entrance of that grotto flow'd
    A quiet streamlet, cool and never dull,
Wherein the many-colour'd pebbles glow'd,
    And sparkled thro' its water beautiful,
And thereon the shy wild-fowl often rode,
    And on its grassy margin you might cull
Flowers and healing plants: a hermit spot
And, once seen, never to be quite forgot.

~~
Barry Cornwall (1787-1874)
from A Sicilian Story, with Diego de Montilla, and other poems, 1820.

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Barry Cornwall biography

Daderot, Grotto, Stowe, Buckinghamshire, England. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons.

Woods in Winter / Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

from Earlier Poems

Woods in Winter

When winter winds are piercing chill,
And through the hawthorn blows the gale,
With solemn feet I tread the hill,
That overbrows the lonely vale.

O'er the bare upland, and away
Through the long reach of desert woods,
The embracing sunbeams chastely play,
And gladden these deep solitudes.

Where, twisted round the barren oak,
The summer vine in beauty clung,
And summer winds the stillness broke,
The crystal icicle is hung.

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs
Pour out the river's gradual tide,
Shrilly the skater's iron rings,
And voices fill the woodland side.

Alas! how changed from the fair scene,
When birds sang out their mellow lay,
And winds were soft, and woods were green,
And the song ceased not with the day!

But still wild music is abroad,
Pale, desert woods! within your crowd;
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord,
Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.

Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear
Has grown familiar with your song;
I hear it in the opening year,
I listen, and it cheers me long.

~~
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
from Voices of the Night, 1839

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow biography

"Woods in Winter" read by Ghizela Rowe.

November / H. Cordelia Ray

from The Procession of the Seasons

November

The leaves are sere,
The woods are drear,
The breeze that erst so merrily did play,
Naught giveth but a melancholy lay;
Yet life's great lessons do not fail
E'en in November's gale.
 
~~
H. Cordelia Ray (1852-1916)
from Poems, 1910

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

[December]

H. Cordelia Ray biography

Doug Lee, Late Autumn in the West Woods, 2011. CC BY-SA 2.0, Wikimedia Commons.

Dawn in the June Woods / William Wilfred Campbell

Dawn in the June Woods

When over the edge of night
    The stars pale one by one,
And out of his streams of light
    Rising, the great red sun

Lifteth his splendors up
    Over the hush of the world,
And draining night's ebon cup,
    Leaveth some stars impearled,

Still on its crystal rim,
    Fading like bubbles away,
As out of their cloud-meadows dim,
    The dawn winds blow in this way;

Then bathed in cool dewy wells,
    Old longings of life renew,
Till here in these morning dells
    The dreamings of earth come true;

As up each sun-jewelled slope.
    Over the night-hallowed land.
Wonder and Beauty and Hope
    Walk silently hand in hand.

~~
William Wilfred Campbell (1860-1918)
from Sagas of Vaster Britain, 1914

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

William Wilfred Campbell biography

"Dawn in the June Words" read by Bruce Kachuk for LibriVox. Courtesy LibriVox Audiobooks.

(Poem begins at 4:30)

One Day in Autumn / David Morton

One Day in Autumn

With all our going through this golden weather,
    Where leaves have littered every forest way,
If there be lovers, they should be together:
    For this is golden . . . but the end is grey.
Beyond this shimmer where the bright leaves fall,
    Behind this haze of silver shot with gold,
There is a greyness waiting for it all,—
    A little longer . . . and the world is old.

And never loneliness grew more and more,
    As this that haunts these late October days,
With smoky twilights gathering at the door,
    With grey mist clouding on familiar ways . . .
And well for him who has another near,
When fires are lighted for the dying year.

~~
David Morton (1886-1957)
from Ships in Harbour, and other poems, 1921

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

David Morton biography

The Road Not Taken / Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

~~
Robert Frost (1874-1963)
from Mountain Interval, 1916

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

Robert Frost biography

"The Road Not Taken" read by Robert Frost. Courtesy EML Publishing.

There is strange musick in the stirring wind / William Lisle Bowles

XX

November, 1792

There is strange musick in the stirring wind,
  When low'rs the autumnal eve, and all alone
To the dark wood’s cold covert thou art gone,
Whose ancient trees on the rough slope reclin'd
  Rock, and at times scatter their tresses sere.      
If in such shades, beneath their murmuring,
Thou late hast pass'd the happier hours of spring,
  With sadness thou wilt mark the fading year;
Chiefly if one, with whom such sweets at morn
  Or eve you shar'd, to distant scenes shall stray.        
  O Spring, return! return, auspicious May!
But sad will be thy coming, and forlorn,
  If she return not with thy cheering ray,
  Who from these shades is gone, gone far away.

~~
William Lisle Bowles (1762-1850)
from Sonnets, with other poems, 1794

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

William Lisle Bowles biography

"There is strange music in the stirring wind" read by Bruce Kachuk for LibriVox.

Courtesy The Literary Shelf: Twelve.

The woods shake in an ague-fit / Mathilde Blind

from Love in Exile:

X

The woods shake in an ague‐fit,
     The mad wind rocks the pine,
From sea to sea the white gulls flit
     Into the roaring brine.

The moon as if in panic grief
     Darts through the clouds on high,
Blown like a wild autumnal leaf
     Across the wilder sky.

The gusty rain is driving fast,
     And through the rain we hear,
Above the equinoctial blast,
     The thunder of the Weir.

The voices of the wind and rain
     Wail echoing through my heart —
That love is ever dogged by pain
     And fondest souls must part.

You made heart’s summer, O my friend,
     But now we bid adieu,
There will be winter without end
     And tears for ever new.

~~
Mathilde Blind (1841-1896)
from Songs and Sonnets, 1893

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Mathilde Blind biography

The Fall of the Leaf / Richard Watson Dixon

The Fall of the Leaf

Rise in their place the woods: the trees have cast,
Like earth to earth, their children: now they stand
Above the graves where lie their very last:
Each pointing with her empty hand
And mourning o’er the russet floor,      
Naked and dispossessed;
The queenly sycamore,
The linden, and the aspen, and the rest.

But thou, fair birch, doubtful to laugh or weep,
Who timorously dost keep      
From the sad fallen ring thy face away;
Wouldst thou look to the heavens which wander grey,
The unstilled clouds, slow mounting on their way?
They not regard thee, neither do they send
One breath to wake thy sighs, nor gently tend      
Thy sorrow or thy smile to passion’s end.

Lo, there on high the unlighted moon is hung,
A cloud among the clouds: she giveth pledge,
Which none from hope debars,
Of hours that shall the naked boughs re-fledge      
In seasons high: her drifted train among
Musing she leads the silent song,
Grave mistress of white clouds, as lucid queen of stars.

~~
Richard Watson Dixon (1833-1900)
from Songs and Odes, 1896

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Richard Watson Dixon biography

Dirge in Woods / George Meredith

Dirge in Woods

A wind sways the pines,
         And below
Not a breath of wild air;
Still as the mosses that glow
On the flooring and over the lines
Of the roots here and there.
The pine-tree drops its dead;
They are quiet, as under the sea.
Overhead, overhead
Rushes life in a race,
As the clouds the clouds chase;
         And we go,
And we drop like the fruits of the tree,
         Even we,
         Even so.

~~

George Meredith (1828-1909)

from Ballads and Poems of Tragic Life, 1887

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

George Meredith biography

"Dirge in Woods" read by Zither P. Oxblood. Courtesy Graveyard Poetry.

Who goes amid the green wood? / James Joyce

VIII

Who goes amid the green wood
With springtide all adorning her?
Who goes amid the merry green wood
To make it merrier?

Who passes in the sunlight
By ways that know the light footfall?
Who passes in the sweet sunlight
With mien so virginal?

The ways of all the woodland
Gleam with a soft and golden fire —
For whom does all the sunny woodland
Carry so brave attire?

O, it is for my true love
The woods their rich apparel wear —
O, it is for my own true love,
That is so young and fair.

~~

James Joyce (1882-1941)

from Chamber Music, 1907

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

James Joyce biography

"Who goes amid the green wood?" read for LibriVox. Courtesy Poems Cafe.

Autumn Orchards / Clark Ashton Smith

Autumn Orchards

Walled with far azures of the wintering year,
Late autumn on a windless altar burns;
Splendid as rubies from Sabean urns,
A holocaust of hues is gathered here.

The pear-trees lift a Tyrian tinged with blood;
Strange purples brighten in the smouldering plums;
The fire-red gold of peach and cherry comes
To storm the bronzing borders of the wood.

Rich as the pyre of some Hesperian queen,
Feeding the ultimate sunset with sad fires,
Is this, where beauty with her doom conspires
To tell in flame what death and beauty mean.

O, loveliness grown tragical and dear!
My heart has taken from the torchful leaf
A swiftly soaring glory, and the grief
Of love is colored like the dying year.

~~
Clark Ashton Smith (1893-1961)
from Sandalwood, 1925

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

Clark Ashton Smith biography

"Autumn Orchards" read by Mark Fuller Dillon.

Autumn / Francesca Rios

Autumn

My maple tree is yellow green
Against a blue-gray sky.
In little groups of three and four
I see the restless pigeons fly.

The air is rain-washed — fresh and sweet,  
Mingled with pungent scent of pine.
Kissed by the faintest glint of sun,
Amber and bronze the poplars shine.

He knew the woods — how many times
I’ve seen him tramping in the rain,  
Singing among the trees he loved
The songs I’ll never hear again!

~~
Francesca Rios
from Poetry, November 1922

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

Twenty-old and Seven-wild / Annie Campbell Huestis

Twenty-old and Seven-wild

O Twenty, running through the wood!
     Where friendly leaves and grasses stir,
Where airs are sweet and trees are strong,
     And hiding birds call out to her,
And every little timid thing
That creeps within the woods to sing
     Seems just to have a voice for her.

O Twenty, running through the wood!
     A woman grown, and yet a child!
Now in the sun, now in the shade —
     The wild gone out to meet the wild.
And who can say life is not sweet
To eager eyes and fearless feet
     To Twenty-old and Seven-wild.

She leaves the quiet road that winds
     Its pretty way the whole wood through
And makes a pathway for herself,
     As who at Twenty would not do?
Unseen and seen, the wind and she
Go through the bush and round the tree —
     Go roving 'round and singing through.

Such pleasure just to lose herself!
     O Seven-wild! O Twenty-old!
The shadows stealing from the night
     Tread measures strange with gleams of gold.
And Mayflowers lift their faces pink:—
Now who could look at them and think
     Of being young or being old?

O Twenty, running through the wood!
     Its wildness has a power to still;
The voices low from rock and twig
     The silences with music thrill,—
And suddenly she silent grows,
And, searching out the path she knows,
     Turns back — but carries home the thrill.

~~
Annie Campbell Huestis (1876-1960)
from A Treasury of Canadian Verse, 1915

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

Annie Campbell Huestis biography 

In a Winter Wood / Clinton Scollard

In a Winter Wood 

Into a winter wood
At the crest of the morn I went;
The pine-tree stood like a tent
Of ermine, feathery soft;
The hemlock wore a hood;
And many another bole,
Towering far aloft.
Was wrapt in a samite stole.

A gentle whispering
Seemed wafted from tree to tree.
Like a broken melody
Chorded tender and low;
"We are gossiping of Spring,"
Said a birch, with a friendly nod,
"Of how we will joy when the snow
Will let us look on the sod!"

Then came a truant crow
With a lusty, rusty note,
And a squirrel, sleek of coat.
With his chirrup ever glad;
So we all chimed in, and oh,
What a cheery, chattering,
Frolicsome time we had
Just gossiping of Spring!

~~

Clinton Scollard (1860-1932)

from Easter Song: Lyrics and ballads of the joy of springtime, 1906 

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

Clinton Scollard biography

November / Elizabeth Drew Stoddard

November

Much have I spoken of the faded leaf;
Long have I listened to the wailing wind,
And watched it ploughing through the heavy clouds,
For autumn charms my melancholy mind.

When autumn comes, the poets sing a dirge:
The year must perish; all the flowers are dead;
The sheaves are gathered; and the mottled quail
Runs in the stubble, but the lark has fled!

Still, autumn ushers in the Christmas cheer,
The holly-berries and the ivy-tree:
They weave a chaplet for the Old Year's bier
These waiting mourners do not sing for me!

I find sweet peace in depths of autumn woods.
Where grow the ragged ferns and roughened moss;
The naked, silent trees have taught me this,—
The loss of beauty is not always loss!

~~
Elizabeth Drew Stoddard (1823-1902)
from Poems, 1895

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Elizabeth Drew Stoddard biography

"November" read by Dee Ernst. Courtesy Parsippany Library.