CHARACTER OF BROADLEAF FORESTS 



Are not these woods 

 More free from peril than the envious 



court? 

 Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 

 The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang 

 And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, 

 Which, when it bites and blows upon my 



body, 

 Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and 



say, 

 " This is no flattery : these are counselors 

 That feelingly persuade me what I am." 



And this our life, exempt from public 

 haunt, 



Finds tongues in trees, books in the run- 

 ning brooks, 



Sermons in stones, and good in everything. 



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