Related quotes: They shut the road through...

The Way Through the Woods

They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath,
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.

Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate.
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few)
You will hear the beat of a horse's feet,
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods. . . .
But there is no road through the woods.

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Road Never To Be Taken

I stand by a descending road
That runs down to some dark woods unseen before
And I see no other pedestrian passing by.

As I look on I see a few foot prints running down
None returning from there though.
I stand confounded and confined there.

I have just come out only a few yards
And none knows whether I have come out of my home at all.
Many think I am inside it lost in slumber.

The road is not that easy to travel
Though I can`t sleep like ever before.
They think I ever sleep and never travel.

The dark woods let out a strange cry.
It reaches the skies and reverberates unto my ears
And I begin to retreat.

The ghost of the lucky poet haunts me
As I can never tell the story of the road not taken.
My road was laid by someone cruel!

poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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The lonely woods

In the lonely woods do I roam,
I get a good glimpse of everything,
when I walk through the lonely woods, and a sad song I sing.
I see a pretty bird's wing,
so beautiful, so shiny, like that of a silver ring.
I walk near a small stream,
and when I am tired, I stop near it, sleep and dream.
All around me is silence, there is no hatred and there is no violence.
this is what I like in the woods, the lonely woods,
so silent, so calm,
to me, the trees, and the animals, there is no harm,
this is the lonely woods.

poem by Savio Vogt
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The Lonely Woods

in the lonely woods i'm lost
surrounded by shards of frost
is there a path i haven't crossed?
no. yet in the lonely woods i'm lost

in the lonely woods at night
trapped and locked up in deep fright
no movement, no heat and no light
just the sound of my breath in the lonely

woods

poem by Jonathan Fabianski
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The Woods

My sorrow lives in the woods.
I cannot complain to anyone.
I must bear it to the woods
in the deepest loneliness.

If ever in future times
someone comes for that reason
he can find in the woods
the shy sorrow of my heart.

When he sees far off in the woods,
alone and quiet,
the deepest shadows lying,
that is my somber sorrow

poem by James Comerford
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Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

poem by Robert Frost
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A Ballad Of The Trees And The Master

Into the woods my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent.
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.

poem by Sidney Lanier
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Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.

Robert Frost in Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Voice

Safe in the magic of my woods
I lay, and watched the dying light.
Faint in the pale high solitudes,
And washed with rain and veiled by night,

Silver and blue and green were showing.
And the dark woods grew darker still;
And birds were hushed; and peace was growing;
And quietness crept up the hill;

And no wind was blowing

And I knew
That this was the hour of knowing,
And the night and the woods and you
Were one together, and I should find
Soon in the silence the hidden key
Of all that had hurt and puzzled me -
Why you were you, and the night was kind,
And the woods were part of the heart of me.

And there I waited breathlessly,
Alone; and slowly the holy three,
The three that I loved, together grew
One, in the hour of knowing,
Night, and the woods, and you -

And suddenly
There was an uproar in my woods,

The noise of a fool in mock distress,
Crashing and laughing and blindly going,
Of ignorant feet and a swishing dress,
And a Voice profaning the solitudes.

The spell was broken, the key denied me
And at length your flat clear voice beside me
Mouthed cheerful clear flat platitudes.

You came and quacked beside me in the wood.
You said, 'The view from here is very good!'
You said, 'It's nice to be alone a bit!'
And, 'How the days are drawing out!' you said.
You said, 'The sunset's pretty, isn't it?'

* * * * *

By God! I wish - I wish that you were dead!

poem by Rupert Brooke (1909)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Green Woods Of Truagh

In the green woods of Truagh we met without fear,
Your kiss on my lips, and your voice in my ear,
Your tender arms about me, and your eyes glad and clear–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh the days go on wings,
On every brown branch a gladsome bird sings
And the fragrant amber blossom of the honey-suckle swings–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh the bracken stands high,
And wells of spring-water in deep hollows lie,
And the red deer is browsing in the cool shadows nigh–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh no sorrow dared stay,
The lark called me early at dawn o' the day,
And o'er my sleep at night pleasant dreams used to play–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh you wait till I come–
I left home and you for the stranger's far home,
To bring a hoard of yellow gold across the grey foam–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh–if God hears my prayer–
I shall reach you, O true love, my empty hands there,
For little of the yellow gold has fallen to my share–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh–your heart on my own,
And your bright hair in ringlets across my cheek blown
Now where in all the wide, wide world, could greater bliss be known?
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

poem by Anna Johnston MacManus
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Voice, The

Safe in the magic of my woods
I lay, and watched the dying light.
Faint in the pale high solitudes,
And washed with rain and veiled by night,

Silver and blue and green were showing.
And the dark woods grew darker still;
And birds were hushed; and peace was growing;
And quietness crept up the hill;

And no wind was blowing

And I knew
That this was the hour of knowing,
And the night and the woods and you
Were one together, and I should find
Soon in the silence the hidden key
Of all that had hurt and puzzled me --
Why you were you, and the night was kind,
And the woods were part of the heart of me.

And there I waited breathlessly,
Alone; and slowly the holy three,
The three that I loved, together grew
One, in the hour of knowing,
Night, and the woods, and you ----

And suddenly
There was an uproar in my woods,

The noise of a fool in mock distress,
Crashing and laughing and blindly going,
Of ignorant feet and a swishing dress,
And a Voice profaning the solitudes.

The spell was broken, the key denied me
And at length your flat clear voice beside me
Mouthed cheerful clear flat platitudes.

You came and quacked beside me in the wood.
You said, "The view from here is very good!"
You said, "It's nice to be alone a bit!"
And, "How the days are drawing out!" you said.
You said, "The sunset's pretty, isn't it?"

* * * * *

By God! I wish -- I wish that you were dead!

poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wordfall

Among the dark trees these in autumn prime
rise under empty skies/Let colour leaven
the shadowed woods I wander through in time.

Red oak and bright sweet chestnut spread sublime
rich canopies for jay or squirrel, woven
among the dark trees, these. In autumn prime,

acorns and prickly chestuts challenge rhyme,
pale cases and their gilt-speared leaves enliven
the shadowed woods I wander through. In time,

late summer chills the landscape. As I climb
words dropp like a snow-warning, white as heaven
among the dark trees. These in autumn prime

their measures with the season, pulse and mime
and fall in hasty turbulence, panic driven
from sahdowed words I wander through. In time

drifts of their meaning overwhelm me. I'm
victim and foool of wordall in this haven
among the darkteres, thefse, in autumn, prime
the shadowed woods. I wander through, in time.

From the Great North Road,2007

poem by Sally Evans
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Woodsman

A man of the woods carries his belongings
To a hut, where he proclaims a message
To his family, and restores himself with comfort.

The family knows he is not just a forester,
Underneath the leaves is a buried soul, he says,
One of the poor souls.

The forester never forgets the trees,
He, indeed, is a being with the woods,
Cutting down trees even in his spare time.

The family despises this lonely man of the forest,
The denial of human life is utterly obnoxious,
Life is precious, even all of nature cherishes it.

One day, this man of the woods described himself
In his world of timber, and laid his hands on his sons,
Teaching them not to take another soul just as he did.

poem by Naveed Akram
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The Fight Goes On The Fight Must Never End

The woman conservationists admire
She fights to save the trees of Sherbrooke Shire
A staunch member of the 'Save The Dandenongs Team'
The fight is on to keep the mountain green.

To woods and all green places she's a friend
And the fight goes on the fight must never end
The verbal war the unending war of words
To save the woods and hedgerows for the birds.

The fight is on to save the greenery
To save green places and each precious tree
For future generations to enjoy
The fight goes on and the heated words still fly.

The developer say we'll cut the forest down
And replace the scrubland with a concrete town
But the conservationists keep getting in their way
The woods were always here and the woods will stay.

And the Margaret Douglas's of this world too rare
And the developers too many everywhere
To woods and all green places she's a friend
And the fight goes on the fight must never end.

poem by Francis Duggan
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While the woods were green

WHILE the woods were green,
'Oh I' she sang, 'my heart is new,
Leaping, longing, in my breast:
Let him come that loves me true,
Let him come that I love best,
I will tell him what I mean,
Now the wood-birds tell it too,
Now the woods are green.'

While the woods were bare,
'Oh I' she sighed, 'my heart is grey,
Shrinking, shivering, in my breast:
Love me, hate me, as they may,
None of them do I love best:
Let me be alone with care,
Now the wood-birds hide away,
Now the woods are bare.'

poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Settin The Woods On Fire

Comb your hair and paint and powder
You act proud and Ill act prouder
You sing loud and Ill sing louder
Tonight were setting the woods on fire
You my gal and Im your feller
Dress up in your frock of yeller
Ill look swell but youll look sweller
Setting the woods on fire
Well take in all the honkey tonks
Tonihgt were having fun
Well show the folks a brand new dance
That never has been done
I dont care who thinks were silly
You be daffy and Ill be dilly
Well order up to bowls of chili
Setting the woods on fire
Ill gas up my hot rod stocker
Well get hotter than a poker
Youll be broke but Ill be broker
Tonight were setting the woods on fire
Well sit close to one another
Up the one street and down the other
Well have a time o brother
Setting the woods on fire
Well put aside a little time
To fix a flat or two
My tires and tubes are doing fine
But the air is showing through
You clap hands and Ill start bowing
Well do all the laws allowin
Tomorrow Ill be right back plowing
Setting the woods on fire

song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Setting The Woods On Fire

song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tiger in the wood

There is a tiger in the woods
With such an attitude

There is a tiger in the woods
Do not stay out there in the nude

There is a tiger in the woods
Alternating between humble and rude

There is a tiger in the woods
Looking for its prey, so pray
Soon will be injurious what was once good
Ready and steady he sets about to slay
The brave who protrude along his way

There is a tiger in the wood
Thinking about you as food
A known serial killer
Seeking a bestial thriller

There is a tiger in the wood
Whose beautiful stripes, I conclude
Put you off guard. Understood?
Such display, I call the tiger’s interlude.

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Into the Woods

A walk into the woods, any woods,
Singing will change all the moods.
I'll fly into the woods to escape,
And while there I shall rape,
The vine of its berry,
Then watch the bird be airy,
I'll steal the sun of its shine,
Yes, it all will be mine,
For only that moment while I am there,
Now I shall leave the air to the air.
Thanks to the higher power,
For all this time hour by hour,
We shall all know when it is time to go,
But for now, shall we walk just a little bit slow?

poem by Alice June
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Cuckoo!

In woods so long time bare
Cuckoo!
Up and in the wood, I know not where
Two notes fall.
Yet I do not envy him at all
His phantasy.
Cuckoo!
I too,
Somewhere,
I have sung as merrily as he
Who can dare,
Small and careless love, so to laugh at care,
And who
Can call
Cuckoo!
In woods of winter weary,
In scented woods, of winter weary, call
Cuckoo!
In woods so long time bare.

poem by Hilaire Belloc
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Whose Words These Are Only God Knows

WHOSE WOODS THESE ARE ONLY GOD KNOWS

Whose woods these are only God knows
Sparse and bare the trees
A pleasant morning in the hottest time of the year-

My task here is no more-

The man I took care of for one year and one half is in his grave
His kind and good wife said goodbye
With a gift for my daughter and her child
And a compensation check for me.

What Promises are there for me to keep now?
In these last years
Before I too fade and die?

The woods are light and small
And the Developers will soon be here-

I look up out at the Hill of the Holy city
A soft calm wind blows-
Never have I been so still inside-
And miles to go before I sleep?
The City sad and light and deep.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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