A FOREST IN BOSNIA <br />Spirit of Trajan! What a world is here, <br />What remnant of old Europe in this wood, <br />Of life primaeval rude as in the year <br />When thy first legions by the Danube stood. <br />These are the very Dacians they subdued, <br />Swineherds and shepherds clad in skins of deer <br />And fox and marten still, a bestial brood, <br />Than their own swine begotten swinelier. <br />The fair oak--forest, their first heritage, <br />Pastures them still, and still the hollow oak <br />Receives them in its bosom. Still o'erhead <br />Upon the stag--head tops, grown hoar with age, <br />Calm buzzards sit and ancient ravens croak, <br />And all with solemn life is tenanted.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-love-sonnets-of-proteus-part-iv-vita-nova-cviii/
