large/8425/among_the_trees_again_1609_librivox_64kb_mp3/trees_50_stein_64kb_1
large/8425/among_the_trees_again_1609_librivox_64kb_mp3/trees_50_stein_64kb
English
8425
Here where across the waking lands Young willows wave their bloomy wands, Whilst up the heights and far away The pine trees climb in singing bands And feathery spruces surge and sway And clap their cones, like little hands, For gladness of the day! HERE WHERE ACROSS THE WAKING LANDS YOUNG WILLOWS WAVE THEIR BLOOMY WANDS WHILST UP THE HEIGHTS AND FAR AWAY THE PINE TREES CLIMB IN SINGING BANDS AND FEATHERY SPRUCES SURGE AND SWAY AND CLAP THEIR CONES LIKE LITTLE HANDS FOR GLADNESS OF THE DAY
 Upon the gray crags, steep and sheer, The columbines’ gold tassels swing, And wind-flowers cling, Where, lightly poised, the mountain deer Drink in the dewy atmosphere In long, deep draughts of sun and spring; From haunts that know no hunter’s snare The hermit-thrush and wood-dove wing, Whilst through green openings squirrels fare And here and there Great, silvery moths go fluttering. Along the valley, in a trail Of purple light, the mist clouds sail, And, soft and pale As wreaths of newly risen smoke, They wrap the red-wood trees and veil The topmost crests of pine and oak, And balsam boughs and juniper Wherethrough the west winds faintly stir The underwood, and gently stroke The tall young ferns, and smooth the fur Of countless happy forest-folk. Wild little hearts, that throb unknown Save to the fondling winds alone, Bright eyes, that sparkle free of fear, O earth is sweet, and life is dear! Here in these forests, still your own, In primal peace, this many a year God keep you here!  LIBER BOX DOT ORGED BY LARRY WILSON UPON THE GRAY CRAGS STEEP AND SHEER THE COLUMBINES GOLD TASSELS SWING AND WINDFLOWERS CLING WHERE LIGHTLY POISE THE MOUNTAIN DEER DRINK IN DEWY ATMOSPHERE IN LONG DREAM DRAUGHTS OF SUN AND SPRING FROM HAUNTS THAT KNOW NO HUNTER SNARE THE HERMIT THRUSH AND WOOD DOVE WING WHILST THROUGH GREEN OPENINGS SQUIRRELS FARE AND HERE AND THERE GREAT SILVERY MOTHS GO FLUTTERING ALONG THE VALLEY IN A TRAIL OF PURPLE LIGHT THE MIST CLOUDS SAIL AND SOFT AND PALE AS WREATHS OF NEWLY RISEN SMOKE THEY WRAP THE RED WOOD TREES AND VEIL THE TOPMOST CRESTS OF PINE AND OAK AND BALSA BOUGHS IN JUNIPER WHERE THROUGH THE WEST WINDS FAINTLY STIR THE UNDERWOOD AND GENTLY STROKE THE TALL YOUNG FERNS AND SMOOTH THE FUR OF COUNTLESS HAPPY FOREST FOLK WILD AT LITTLE HEARTS THAT THROB UNKNOWN SAVE TO THE FONDLING WINDS ALONE BRIGHT EYES THAT SPARKLE FREE OF FEAR O EARTH IS SWEET AND LIFE IS DEAR HERE IN THESE FORESTS STILL YOUR OWN IN PRIMAL PEACE THIS MANY A YEAR GOD KEEP YOU HERE
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