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An English Wood

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Written by: Robert Graves | Biography
| Poems
 | Quotes |
 This valley wood is pledged
To the set shape of things,
And reasonably hedged:
Here are no harpies fledged,
No rocs may clap their wings,
Nor gryphons wave their stings.
Here, poised in quietude, Calm elementals brood On the set shape of things: They fend away alarms From this green wood.
Here nothing is that harms - No bulls with lungs of brass, No toothed or spiny grass, No tree whose clutching arms Drink blood when travellers pass, No mount of glass; No bardic tongues unfold Satires or charms.
Only, the lawns are soft, The tree-stems, grave and old; Slow branches sway aloft, The evening air comes cold, The sunset scatters gold.
Small grasses toss and bend, Small pathways idly tend Towards no fearful end.


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