CRAGS AND PINES

WHO treads the dirty lanes of trade
Shall never know the wondrous things
Told by the rugged forest kings
To him who sleeps beneath their shade.

Only to him whose coat of rags
Has pressed at night their royal feet
Shall come the secrets, strange and sweet,
Of regal pines and beetling crags.

For him the Wood-nymph shall unlock
The mystic treasures which have lain
A thousand years, in frost and rain,
Deep in the bosom of the rock.

For this and these he must lay down
The things that worldlings most do prize,
Holding his being in her eyes,
His fealty to her laurel crown.

No greed of gold shall come to him,
Nor strong desire of earthly praise;
But he shall love the silent ways
Of forest aisles and arches dim.

And dearer hold the open page
Of nature's book than shrewdest plan
By which man cheats his fellow man,
Or robs the workman of his wage.