Very old are the woods; And the buds that break Out of the brier's boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are -- Oh, no man knows Through what wild centuries Roves back the rose. Very old are the brooks; And the rills that rise Where snow sleeps cold beneath The azure skies Sing such a history Of come and gone, Their every drop is as wise As Solomon. Very old are we men; Our dreams are tales Told in dim Eden By Eve's nightingales; We wake and whisper awhile, But, the day gone by, Silence and sleep like fields Of amaranth lie. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHRISTMAS TREES; A CHRISTMAS CIRCULAR LETTER by ROBERT FROST THE BASE OF ALL METAPHYSICS by WALT WHITMAN MARSH MUSIC by KENNETH SLADE ALLING EVENING TRAINS by MARY TRUE AYER THE SECOND COVENANT by WILLIAM ROSE BENET STEEL OR GOLD?; THE QUESTION by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON THE GOLDEN ODES OF PRE-ISLAMIC ARABIA: IMR EL KAIS by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |