The brook that played at hiding with the sky Mirrors no green leaves now, laid rudely bare For light to point at. Through the sad white air Rings the incredulous birds' home-seeking cry. Wildly the outraged squirrel chatters by 'Mid the chipped ruin of his dwelling fair, And all the girlish fern and maiden-hair Hang heads abashed before the day's bold eye. Oh! my dear shrines amid the mossy rock, Owned ye no woodland deities to stay The axe, greed-goaded to the ugly shock? Had all your oracles no voice to say, "Spoilers! The wealths you ruin here but mock The mangled profit that you drag away"? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SMOKE IN WINTER by HENRY DAVID THOREAU DIFFERENT MINDS by RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH I HAVE PRAYED by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS CHORUS OF CLOUD-MAIDENS: STROPHE, FR. THE CLOUDS by ARISTOPHANES OUT OF THE VAST by AUGUSTUS WRIGHT BAMBERGER NEW YEAR'S EVE by MATHILDE BLIND WARNING TO TROOPS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |