'Tis a steep wood of rocks, With the fern grown everywhere; But with no birds -- not a wing! And the falls come down there. Even an Indian trail Would swerve to a haunt so fair! One used to -- there were the ferns And the falls came down there. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BUSY HEART by RUPERT BROOKE STEVENSON'S BIRTHDAY by KATHERINE WISE MILLER SHERIDAN'S RIDE [DECEMBER 19, 1864] by THOMAS BUCHANAN READ SONNET: 2 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ELEGIAC SONNET: 7. ON THE DEPARTURE OF THE NIGHTINGALE by CHARLOTTE SMITH |