Page:Wessex poems and other verses (IA wessexpoemsother00hard).pdf/175

 Unto this wood I came As to a nest; Dreaming that sylvan peace Offered the harrowed ease— Nature a soft release From men's unrest.

But, having entered in, Great growths and small Show them to men akin— Combatants all! Sycamore shoulders oak, Bines the slim sapling yoke, Ivy-spun halters choke Elms stout and tall.

Touches from ash, O wych, Sting you like scorn! You, too, brave hollies, twitch Sidelong from thorn. Even the rank poplars bear Illy a rival's air, Cankering in black despair If overborne.