In the lone woodland, where no song of bird
Breaks the deep calm; where Nature seems at prayer;
Where your low tranquil breathing is but heard –
I’ll seek you there:
I’ll seek you there; and with you wander through
Dim sylvan paths, like lovers hand in hand;
While bows the wood’s great spirit, passive to
Your mute command.
When summer comes the woods wave banners green;
But Summer’s gone, and you reign in his stead;
And soon your colours only will be seen –
Gold, brown and red.
We’ll roam where fields of undulating corn
Put on the golden symbol of your rule.
With you for monitor I’ll strive to learn
In Nature’s school.
In the lone woodland ways, in the dim light,
Each fading leaf will be a sermon deep.
O, teach me, then, to read my lesson right,
And wisely reap.
‘The Bard of Foremass’
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.