The woods they are cool, and the woods they are free;--
To dream and to wander, how sweet it would be!
The birds their eternal glad holiday keep;
With song that enchants you and lulls you to sleep.
'Tis hot here,--and close! and the din will not cease.
I long for the forest, its coolth and its peace.
--_Ay, cool you will soon be; and not only cool,
But cold as no forest can make you, O Fool!_

I long for a friend who will comfort and cheer,
And fill me with courage when sorrow is near;
A comrade, of treasures the rarest and best,
Who gives to existence its crown and its crest;
And I am an orphan--and I am alone;
No friend or companion to call me his own.
--_Companions a-plenty--they're numberless too;
They're swarming already and waiting for you._




Whither?

(To a Young Girl)


Say whither, whither, pretty one?
The hour is young at present!
How hushed is all the world around!