'Tis said that when <br />The hands of men <br />Tamed this primeval wood, <br />And hoary trees with groans of woe, <br />Like warriors by an unknown foe, <br />Were in their strength subdued, <br />The virgin Earth Gave instant birth <br />To springs that ne'er did flow <br />That in the sun Did rivulets run, <br />And all around rare flowers did blow <br />The wild rose pale Perfumed the gale <br />And the queenly lily adown the dale <br />(Whom the sun and the dew <br />And the winds did woo), <br />With the gourd and the grape luxuriant grew. <br /> <br />So when in tears <br />The love of years <br />Is wasted like the snow, <br />And the fine fibrils of its life <br />By the rude wrong of instant strife <br />Are broken at a blow <br />Within the heart <br />Do springs upstart <br />Of which it doth now know, <br />And strange, sweet dreams, <br />Like silent streams <br />That from new fountains overflow, <br />With the earlier tide <br />Of rivers glide <br />Deep in the heart whose hope has died-- <br />Quenching the fires its ashes hide,-- <br />Its ashes, whence will spring and grow <br />Sweet flowers, ere long, <br />The rare and radiant flowers of song!<br /><br />Edgar Allan Poe<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-forest-reverie/
