140 ARBOR DAY 



Cool for the dutiful weighing of ill with good; 



O braided dusks of the oak and woven shades of the 



vine, 

 While the riotous noonday sun of the June-day 



long did shine 

 Ye held me fast in your heart and I held you fast in 



mine; 

 But now when the noon is no more, and riot 



is rest, 

 And the sun is a-wait at the ponderous gate of the 



West, 

 And the slant yellow beam down the wood-aisle 



doth seem 



Like a lane into heaven that leads from a dream, 

 Ay, now, when my soul all day hath drunken the 



soul of the oak, 



And my heart is at ease from men, and the weari- 

 some sound of the stroke 



Of the scythe of time and the trowel of trade is low, 

 And belief overmasters doubt, and I know that I 



know, 

 And my spirit is grown to a lordly great compass 



within, 

 That the length and the breadth and the sweep of 



the Marshes of Glynn 

 Will work me no fear like the fear they have wrought 



me of yore 

 When length was fatigue, and when breadth was but 



bitterness sore, 



