Classic Poem

Oh, the woods, the woods, the woods for me!
With a heart as light and spirit as free
As the winds that play on the leafy green,
Or the beams that dance in the water's sheen.

Let others remain in the moody pen,
'Mid the din, the jars, and the rush of men,
And clink their gold with a miser's glee,
But the sounding woods have the ring for me.

Or spend as ye may the whirling day,
'Mid the fairy throngs of the glad and gay,
And be charmed by the music of flattery's words,
But I'll go list to the song of the birds.

Or trim your lamp with a brow as damp
As the clammy hand of death can stamp,
And dream like spectres over your books;
But I 'll go read in the running brooks.

Oh, the woods, the woods! I hear your voice!
Ye bid me once more in your arms rejoice;
In a mother's tones ye welcome me home,
I'll fly to your bosom,—I come! I come!