Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needsNo school of long experience, that the worldIs full of guilt and misery, and hast seenEnough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares,To tire thee of it, enter this wild woodAnd view the haunts of Nature. The calm shadeShall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breezeThat makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balmTo thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing hereOf all that pained thee in the haunts of menAnd made thee loathe thy life. The primal curseFell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth,But not in vengeance. God hath yoked to guiltHer pale tormentor, misery. Hence, these shadesAre still the abodes of gladness; the thick roofOf green and stirring branches is aliveAnd musical with birds, that sing and sportIn wantonness of spirit; while belowThe squirrel, with raised paws and form erect,Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shadeTry their thin wings and dance in the warm beamThat waked them into life. Even the green treesPartake the deep contentment; as they bendTo the soft winds, the sun from the blue skyLooks in and sheds a blessing on the scene.Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoyExistence, than the winged plundererThat sucks its sweets. The massy rocks themselves,And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate treesThat lead from knoll to knoll a causey rudeOr bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots,With all their earth upon them, twisting high,Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivuletSends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its bedOf pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks,Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoiceIn its own being. Softly tread the marge,Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wrenThat dips her bill in water. The cool wind,That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee,Like one that loves thee nor will let thee passUngreeted, and shall give its light embrace.
Poems by William Cullen Bryant · William Cullen Bryant