O silent wood, I enter thee
With a heart so full of misery;
For all the voices from the trees,
And the ferns that cling about my knees.
In thy darkest shadow let me sit,
When the grey owls about thee flit;
There will I ask of thee a boon,
That I may not faint or die or swoon.
Gazing through the gloom like one
Whose life and hopes are also done,
Frozen like a thing of stone;
I sit in thy shadow - but not alone.
Can God bring back the day when we two stood
Beneath the clinging trees in that dark wood?