Here, where the red man swept the leaves away To dig for cordial bark or cooling root, The wayside apple drops its surly fruit. Right through the deep heart of his midmost wood, Through range and river and swampy solitude, The common highway landward runs today, The train booms by with long derisive hoot And, following fast, rise factory, school, and forge. I heed them not; but where you alders shoot, Searching strange plants to medicine my mood-- With a quick savage sense I stop, or stray Through the brush pines and up the mountain gorge: With patient eye, and with as safe a foot, As though I walked the wood with sagamore George. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GARDEN FANCIES: 1. THE FLOWER'S NAME by ROBERT BROWNING STANZAS FOR MUSIC (2) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE BRAVE OLD OAK by HENRY FOTHERGILL CHORLEY THE PROBLEM by RALPH WALDO EMERSON CORONATION by HELEN MARIA HUNT FISKE JACKSON THE FOURTH OF JULY by JOHN PIERPONT |