My automobile loves the saintly wood; But his hot heart, his wild and throbbing heart, Enamored of her quiet, better good, Knows well that in it all he has no part. He plunges boldly through her gentle ways, He seeks to please, to flatter and cajole, But evermore, in shrinking, sad amaze, She turns from him the secrets of her soul. How shall he learn the sunlight's calm caress, The birds' dear notes, the grace of tree and vine? Must he forever vainly pray and press Against the woodland's closed, inviolate shrine? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LETTER ON THE USE OF MACHINE GUNS AT WEDDINGS by KENNETH PATCHEN NIGHT IN ARIZONA by SARA TEASDALE |