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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