In a Wood

 Pale beech and pine-tree blue, 
Set in one clay, 
Bough to bough cannot you 
Bide out your day? 
When the rains skim and skip, 
Why mar sweet comradeship, 
Blighting with poison-drip 
Neighborly spray? 

Heart-halt and spirit-lame, 
City-opprest, 
Unto this wood I came 
As to a nest; 
Dreaming that sylvan peace 
Offered the harrowed ease— 
Nature a soft release 
From men’s unrest.
 

But, having entered in, 
Great growths and small 
Show them to men akin— 
Combatants all! 
Sycamore shoulders oak, 
Bines the slim sapling yoke, 
Ivy-spun halters choke 
Elms stout and tall.
 

Touches from ash, O wych, 
Sting you like scorn! 
You, too, brave hollies, twitch 
Sidelong from thorn.
 
Even the rank poplars bear 
Illy a rival’s air, 
Cankering in black despair 
If overborne.
 

Since, then, no grace I find 
Taught me of trees, 
Turn I back to my kind, 
Worthy as these.
 
There at least smiles abound, 
There discourse trills around, 
There, now and then, are found 
Life-loyalties.

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