'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...DOMESDAY BOOK: ARCHIBALD LOWELL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS CONRAD AT TWILIGHT by JOHN CROWE RANSOM THE TEN COMMANDMENTS by GEORGE SANTAYANA PRELUDE TO A FAIRY TALE by EDITH SITWELL AFTER DIVORCE; FOR NAHID SARMAD by KAREN SWENSON THE CHINESE LAUNDRYMAN by KAREN SWENSON |