Classic Poem

The work in the woods, oh, it's heavy the hurt of it,
The long day of labor, the short night of rest,
The camp, and the tramp, and the damp and the dirt of it,
Afoot when the stars are still out in the west,
The sting of the wind, or the snow and the rain of it,
The cold sky if clear and the wet sky if gray —
And yet there is something, with all of the pain of it,
That finds us and coaxes and calls us away.

The work in the woods! — There is something in spite of it
That pulls at the heart like a sailor the sea,
The gay and the gray and the day and the night of it,
The smile of the sun and the sob of the tree;
Afar from the forest you hear the loud call of it,
Then what do you care if the labor be long?
For, somehow or other, you sort of like all of it —
The work and the play and the sigh and the song!