198 ARBOR DAY 



than through it. Or is it that, not greatly fond of 

 interiors (of woodland interiors, even), I prefer 

 to stand or sit in the strong-pillared portico, and 

 gaze thence far into the mysterious presence-filled 

 sanctuary? Were I within, the preached word 

 would but puzzle my child-like capacity. Such 

 impression I have of the woods in full leaf, roofed 

 over and curtained round. In winter, in early 

 spring, or in late autumn, when the sky's good light 

 keeps me in countenance, my wood-wit is less dull. 

 Looking sunward through these long aisles, I see 

 the dead leaves repeatedly lifted on the awakening 

 wind. The ground itself seems to acquire motion 

 from their fluctuations, and appears now rising, now 

 subsiding, as the wind comes or goes. Are the leaves 

 surely dead ? Near by they have a cautionary speech 

 all their own, a continuous "hist" and "'sh" 

 sounds distinct from the sonorous wind-march 

 through the tree- tops. Soul of the forest and of all 

 sylvan summers gone, set free by the blown ripe leaves 

 I flush it, and follow it through the shrill woods! 



THE WAYSIDE INN AN APPLE TREE 



FROM THE GERMAN 



I HALTED at a pleasant inn, 



As I my way was wending 

 A golden apple was the sign, 



From knotty bough depending. 



