Forest Moods

There is singing of birds in the deep wet wods,
In the heart of the listening solitudes,
Pewees, and thrushes, and sparrows, not few,
And all the notes of their throats are true.
The thrush from the innermost ash takes on
A tender dream of the treasure and gone;
But the sparrow singeth with pride and cheer
Of the might and light of the present and here.
There is shining of flowers in deep wet woods,
In the heart of the sensitive solitudes,
The roseate bell and the lily are there,
And every leaf of their sheaf is fair.

careless and bold, without dream of woe,
The trilliums scatter their flags snow;
But the pale wood-daffodil covers her face,
A gloom with the doom of a sorrowfull race.

Author: Archibald Lampman