Classic Poem

I HAVE in memory a quiet wood
Where silence has its altars, and the air
Seems hallowed, hushed as though it were for prayer,
Sacred to restfulness and solitude.
And when upon my mind grave cares intrude,
Into these blessed depths I fain would fare
For meditation, haply plucking there
The herb of solace for each bitter mood.

Then I emerge refreshed. I bear away
Somewhat of the serene content of trees,
The unexplainable largesse of flowers;
I walk exalted through a larger day,
And know at night the guerdon of the hours
Is deeper faith and wider sympathies.