212 ARBOR DAY 



Oh, goodly damp smell of the ground! 

 Oh, rough, sweet bark of the trees! 

 Oh, clear, sharp cracklings of sound! 

 Oh, life that's a-thrill and a-bound 

 With the vigor of boyhood and morning and the 

 noontide's rapture of ease! 



Was there ever a weary heart in the world ? 



A lag in the body's urge, or a flag of the spirit's 



wings ? 



Did a man's heart ever break 

 For a lost hope's sake? 

 For here there is lilt in the quiet and calm in the 



quiver of things. 



Ay, this old oak, gray-grown and knurled, 

 Solemn and sturdy and big, 

 Is as young of heart, as alert and elate in his rest, 

 As the oriole there that clings to the tip of the twig 

 And scolds at the wind that it buffets too rudely 



his nest. 



IN THE HEMLOCKS* 



BY JOHN BURROUGHS 



From Wake-Robin 



THE ancient hemlocks, whither I propose to 

 take the reader, are rich in many things beside 

 birds. Indeed, their wealth in this respect is owing 



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



