The poem
The glorying forest shakes and swings with glancing Of boughs that dip and strain; young, slanting sprays Beckon and shift like lissom creatures dancing, While the blown beechwood streams with drifting rays. Rooted in steadfast calm, grey stems are seen Like weather-beaten masts; the wood, unfurled, Seems as a ship with crowding sails of green That sweeps across the lonely billowing world.
O luminous and lovely! Let your flowers, Your ageless-squadroned wings, your surge and gleam, Drown me in quivering brightness: let me fade In the warm, rustling music of the hours That guard your ancient wisdom, till my dream Moves with the chant and whisper of the glade.