Classic Poem

Darker the track to-day
Than any cloudy March or April day
When nesting birds sang louder,
For hazels hazels, elders elders meet,
Tangle and trip the sun's pale dancing feet
That beat it to white powder.

That day in January,
I climbed the hill to this wood's sanctuary,
The track was plain enough;
But oh, this summer tangle, thistles, nettles,
Goose-grass, fool's parsley, falling privet petals
And leafy bough on bough.

Then half the sky looked in
Where the track ran, open and wide and thin,
Though slippery in places;
Now bryony crowds its stars yellow as honey
And close against my face hemp-agrimony
Pushes its purple faces.

But I may find again
When autumn's fires sink under winter's rain
A clearer way to pass,
As when that sun with a wan ray of hope
Striking a hollow on the frost-furred slope
Wet one green patch of grass.