Read by the wayside, read by the brook,
That this is the passion of the year;
Look at the fields, look at the woods,
Look upon me, and — draw near!
Just as these days are, so is my heart;
Lilies are flaming, berries are ripe;
Alders blow sweet, acorns are full —
And the bobolink's young ones pipe!
Ponder the river, ponder the sky,
Hazy and gray, hazy and blue;
Study the trees wed to the wind —
I promise you I'll be as true!
Yes, true as August — as the birds’ song,
The sweet fern's scent, the weedy, blue shore,
The shine of vines, smilax, and grape —
What can you ask for more?