Close Echo hears the woodman's axe, <br />To double on it, as in glee, <br />With clap of hands, and little lacks <br />Of meaning in her repartee. <br />For all shall fall, <br />As one has done, <br />The tree of me, <br />Of thee the tree; <br />And unto all <br />The fate we wait <br />Reveals the wheels <br />Whereon we run: <br />We tower to flower, <br />We spread the shade, <br />We drop for crop, <br />At length are laid; <br />Are rolled in mould, <br />From chop and lop: <br />And are we thick in woodland tracks, <br />Or tempting of our stature we, <br />The end is one, we do but wax <br />For service over land and sea. <br />So, strike! the like <br />Shall thus of us, <br />My brawny woodman, claim the tax. <br />Nor foe thy blow, <br />Though wood be good, <br />And shriekingly the timber cracks: <br />The ground we crowned <br />Shall speed the seed <br />Of younger into swelling sacks. <br /> <br />For use he hews, <br />To make awake <br />The spirit of what stuff we be: <br />Our earth of mirth <br />And tears he clears <br />For braver, let our minds agree; <br />And then will men <br />Within them win <br />An Echo clapping harmony.<br /><br />George Meredith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/woodman-and-echo/
