Wind in the Beechwood

 The glorying forest shakes and swings with glancing 
Of boughs that dip and strain; young, slanting sprays 
Beckon and shift like lissom creatures dancing, 
While the blown beechwood streams with drifting rays. 
Rooted in steadfast calm, grey stems are seen
Like weather-beaten masts; the wood, unfurled, 
Seems as a ship with crowding sails of green 
That sweeps across the lonely billowing world. 

O luminous and lovely! Let your flowers, 
Your ageless-squadroned wings, your surge and gleam,
Drown me in quivering brightness: let me fade 
In the warm, rustling music of the hours 
That guard your ancient wisdom, till my dream 
Moves with the chant and whisper of the glade.

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