WOODNOTES 151 



Into the woods my Master came, 

 Forspent with love and shame. 

 But the olives they were not blind to Him; 

 The little gray leaves were kind to Him; 

 The thorn-tree had a mind to Him 

 When into the woods He came. 



Out of the woods my Master went, 



And He was well content. 



Out of the woods my Master came, 



Content with death and shame. 



When Death and Shame would woo Him last, 



From under the trees they drew Him last: 



'Twas on a tree they slew Him last, 



When out of the woods He came. 



WOODNOTES* 

 II 



BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON 



As the sunbeams stream through liberal space 

 And nothing jostle or displace, 

 So waved the pine-tree through my thought 

 And fanned the dreams it never brought. 



*By permission of the publishers, Houghton, Miffiin & Co. 



The stately white pine of New England was Emerson's 

 favorite tree. . . . This poem records the actual fact; 

 nearly every day, summer or winter, when at home, he went to 

 listen to its song. The pine grove by Walden, still standing, 

 though injured by time and fire, was one of his most valued 

 possessions. He questioned whether he should not name his 

 book "Forest Essays," for, he said, " I have scarce a day-dream 



