I' M out in the free woods once more,
With whispering boughs o'erhead,
Strange influences round me steal,
And yet, what deepliest I feel
Must ever be unsaid.

These glowing, glowing autumn hours,
These gorgeous, wildering days!
This dainty show of painted flowers,
As though with dusky-golden showers
The air were all ablaze!

This living, shining, burnished wood,—
Decked with a thousand dyes!
Its strong ribs laced with crimson sheen,
And tricked with gold and glittering green,
Like kingly tapestries!

This tangled roof of braided light
Above me richly flung!
These glimpses of the sky's soft blue,
This quivering sunshine melting through,
This wide earth, glory-hung!

How shall I utter all I would?
Alas, my struggling soul,—
It strives to voice these glorious things
As strives a bird on broken wings
To struggle to its goal.