I DWELL in the wood that is dark and kind <br />But afar off tolls the main, <br />Afar, far off I hear the wind, <br />And the roving of the rain. <br /> <br />The shade is dark as a palmer's hood, <br />The air with balm is bland: <br />But I wish the trees that breathe in the wood <br />Were ashes in God's hand. <br /> <br />The pines are weary of holding nests, <br />Are aweary of casting shade; <br />Wearily smoulder the resin crests <br />In the pungent gloom of the glade. <br /> <br />Weary are all the birds of sleep, <br />The nests are weary of wings, <br />The whole wood yearns to the swaying deep, <br />The mother of restful things. <br /> <br />The wood is very old and still, <br />So still when the dead cones fall, <br />Near in the vale or away on the hill, <br />You can hear them one and all. <br /> <br />And their falling wearies me; <br />If mine were the will of God,–oh, then <br />The wood should tramp to the sounding sea, <br />Like a marching army of men! <br /> <br />But I dwell in the wood that is dark and kind, <br />Afar off tolls the main; <br />Afar, far off I hear the wind <br />And the roving of the rain.<br /><br />Duncan Campbell Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wood-by-the-sea/
