284 NA T URE-STUD Y RE VIE W [16 :7— Oct. , 1920 



craft, or a fire wood equalled by only a few other woods; also a 

 shade for his protection and for his enjoyment by lending beauty 

 to his landscape. Whether it be in his door yard, the street or 

 woods — every day of the year the ash is man's friend and worth 

 knowing. 



The Birch Tree 



James Russell Lowell 



Rippling thru the branches goes the sunshine, 



Among the leaves that palpitate forever; 



Ovid in thee a pining nymph had prisoned, 



The soul once of some tremulous inland river, 



Quivering to tell the woe, but, ah! dimib, dumb — forever! 



While all the forest, witched with slumberous moonshine, 



Holds up its leaves in happy, happy silence. 



Waiting the dew, with breath and pulse suspended, 



I hear afar thy whispering, gleamy islands. 



And track thee wakeful still amid the wide-hung silence. 



Upon the brink of some wood-nestled lakelet, 



Thy foliage, like the tresses of a Dryad, 



Dripping about thy slim white stem whose, shadow 



Slopes quivering down the water's dusky quiet, 



Thou shrink' st as on her bath's edge would some startled Dryad. 



Thou art the go-between of rustic lovers ; 

 Thy white bark has their secrets in its keeping ; 

 Reuben writes here the happy name of Patience, 

 And thy lithe boughs hang murmuring and weeping 

 Above her as she steals the mystery from thy keeping. 



Thou art to me like my beloved maiden. 



So frankly coy, so full of trembly confidences; 



Thy shadow scarce seems shade, thy pattering leaflets 



Sprinkle their gathered sunshine o'er my senses. 



And nature gives me all her summer confidences. 



Whether my heart with hope or sorrow tremble, 

 Thou sympathizest still; wild and unquiet, 

 I fling me down; thy ripple, like a river. 

 Flows valleyward, where calmness is, and by it 

 My heart is floated down into the land of quiet. 



