Friday, June 3, 2011

Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood

      Solitude/Thomas Moran


      STRANGER, if thou hast learned a truth which needs
      No school of long experience, that the world
      Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen
      Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares,
      To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood
      And view the haunts of nature. The calm shade
      Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze
      That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm
      To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here
      Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men,
      And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse
      Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth,
      But not in vengance. God hath yoked to guilt
      Her pale tormentor, Misery. Hence these shades
      Are still the abode of gladness; the thick roof
      Of green and stirring branches is alive
      And musical with birds, that sing and sport
      In wantonness of spirit; while below
      The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect,
      Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shade
      Try their thin wings and dance in the warm beam.
      That waked them into life. Even the green trees
      Partake the deep contentment; as they bend
      To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky
      Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene.
      Scarce less the cleft-born wildflower seems to enjoy
      Existence, than the winged plunderer
      That sucks its sweets. The mossy rocks themselves,
      And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees
      That lead from knoll to knoll a causeway rude,
      Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots,
      With all their roots upon them, twisting high,
      Breathe fixed tranquility. The rivulet
      Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its bed
      Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks
      Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice
      In its own being. Softly tread the marge,
      Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren
      That 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 pass
      Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace.

      William Cullen Bryant