Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, IN THE WOODS, by GEORGE MEREDITH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

IN THE WOODS, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Hill-sides are dark
Last Line: And a gift in our breath.
Subject(s): Forests; Life; Nature; Woods


I

HILL-SIDES are dark,
And hill-tops reach the star,
And down is the lark,
And I from my mark
Am far.

Unlighted I foot the ways.
I know that a dawn is before me,
And behind me many days;
Not what is o'er me.

II

I am in deep woods,
Between the two twilights.

Whatsoever I am and may be,
Write it down to the light in me;
I am I, and it is my deed;
For I know that paths are dark
Between the two twilights:

My foot on the nodding weed,
My hand on the wrinkled bark,
I have made my choice to proceed
By the light I have within;
And the issue rests with me,
Who might sleep in a chrysalis,
In the fold of a simple prayer,
Between the two twilights.

Flying safe from even to morn:
Not stumbling abroad in air
That shudders to touch and to kiss,
And is unfraternal and thin:
Self-hunted in it, forlorn,
Unloved, unresting, bare,
Between the two twilights:

Having nought but the light in me,
Which I take for my soul in arms,
Resolved to go unto the wells
For water, rejecting spells,
And mouthings of magic for charms,
And the cup that does not flow.

I am in deep woods
Between the two twilights:

Over valley and hill
I hear the woodland wave,
Like the voice of Time, as slow,
The voice of Life, as grave,
The voice of Death, as still.

III

Take up thy song from woods and fields
Whilst thou hast heart, and living yields
Delight: let that expire --
Let thy delight in living die,
Take thou thy song from star and sky,
And join the silent quire.

IV

With the butterfly roaming abroad
On the sunny March day,
The pine-cones opened and blew
Winged seeds, and aloft they flew
Butterfly-like in the ray,
And hung to the breeze:
Spinning they fell to the sod.
Ask you my rhyme
Which shall be trees?
They have had their time.

V

I know that since the hour of birth,
Rooted in earth,
I have looked above,
In joy and in grief,
With eyes of belief,
For love.
A mother trains us so.
But the love I saw was a fitful thing;
I looked on the sun
That clouds or is blinding aglow:
And the love around had more of wing
Than substance, and of spirit none.

Then looked I on the green earth we are rooted in,
Whereof we grow,
And nothing of love it said,
But gave me warnings of sin,
And lessons of patience let fall,
And told how pain was bred,
And wherefore I was weak,
And of good and evil at strife,
And the struggle upward of all,
And my choice of the glory of life:
Was love farther to seek?

VI

The lover of life holds life in his hand,
Like a ring for the bride.
The lover of life is free of dread:
The lover of life holds life in his hand,
As the hills hold the day.

But lust after life waves life like a brand,
For an ensign of pride.
The lust after life is life half-dead:
Yea, lust after life hugs life like a brand,
Dreading air and the ray.

For the sake of life,
For that life is dear,
The lust after life
Clings to it fast.
For the sake of life,
For that life is fair,
The lover of life
Flings it broadcast.

The lover of life knows his labour divine,
And therein is at peace.
The lust after life craves a touch and a sign
That the life shall increase.

The lust after life in the chills of its lust
Claims a passport of death.
The lover of life sees the flame in our dust
And a gift in our breath.





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