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THE WOOD
by John Drinkwater

I WALKED a nut-wood's gloom. And overhead
A pigeon's wing beat on the hidden boughs.
And shrews upon shy tunnelling woke thin
Late winter leaves with trickling sound. Across
My narrow path I saw the carrier ants
Burdened with little pieces of bright straw.
These things I heard and saw, with senses fine
For all the little traffic of the wood.
While everywhere, above me, underfoot,
And haunting every avenue of leaves.
Was mystery, unresting, taciturn.
.................................
And haunting the lucidities of life
That are my daily beauty, moves a theme,
Beating along my undiscovered mind.

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