Boy in the woods

Be joyful, woods, he comes Uncertain-shy To play in just that place Where wide oaks side the laughing stream And daffodils race down the banks To maze the butterflies. Be tender, woods, he trails His gentle hands among the yellow blooms. He knows their pain; the easy bruise Dwells in his eyes. He wades The stream, a butterfly's delight, The treasure of the trees.

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