I walk in wonder through the wood

Like some great temple, moist and still,

Bid fair to meet some forest god,

Or spirit of the Spring’s new growth,

Maybe perched upon a bough

Or peeping round some mossy root.

“Do you, good stranger, come I peace

Or will you jar our ageless calm?”

 

The May shower ended, and humid air

Hangs lank and languorous in the awakened wood.

Odours of peat, decaying leaves,

Are soft and wasted under foot.   (TURN)

 

In churches bells hang high on towers,

But in this holy, pagan place

A million bells in violet blue

Have carpeted the wildwood floor.

They burst upon the woodscape, and then

Glory done, can rest a year

No temple architect can match

This bluebell sea in stone or tile.

 

The May shower ended, and humid air

Hangs lank and languorous

In the awakened wood.

Odours of peat, decaying leaves,

Are soft and wasted underfoot.

 

Like ancient pillars of a nave

The grey-green beeches, smooth and clean

Hold up on high a canopy

A  trembling green and yellow shade.

But of a sudden sun breaks through

And dissipates the lingering cloud.

Shaftlets of light dapple the bark,

And raindrops shimmer on the leaves.

 

The May shower ended, and humid air

Hangs lank and languorous

In the awakened  wood.

Silent I tread where many more have trod

But never meet my forest god.

(Robert Hanrott, 2011)