... IT is the last survivor of a race Strong in their forest-pride when I was young. I can remember when, for miles around, In place of those smooth meadows and corn-fields, There stood ten thousand tall and stately trees, Such as had braved the winds of March, the bolt Sent by the summer lightning, and the snow Heaping for weeks their boughs. Even in the depth Of hot July the glades were cool; the grass, Yellow and parch'd elsewhere, grew long and fresh, Shading wild strawberries and violets, Or the lark's nest; and overhead the dove Had her lone dwelling, paying for her home With melancholy songs; and scarce a beech Was there without a honeysuckle link'd Around, with its red tendrils and pink flowers; Or girdled by a briar rose, whose buds Yield fragrant harvest for the honey-bee. There dwelt the last red deer, those antler'd kings... But this is as a dream, -- the plough has pass'd Where the stag bounded, and the day has look'd On the green twilight of the forest trees. This oak has no companion!... | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRING, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE PARTING LOVERS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING TO HIS DYING BROTHER, MASTER WILLIAM HERRICK by ROBERT HERRICK AFTER DEATH by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI AN APRIL MORNING by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 3. EXERCISE by JOHN ARMSTRONG THE WET WASH by MARIANA BACHMAN |