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Who hath smelt wood-smoke at twilight? Who hath heard the birch-log burning?

Kipling

Im kühlen Tannenwalde

Da steht mein freies Haus.

Adolf Stöber

For thou shalt be in league with the stones of the field: and the beasts of the field shall be at peace with thee. And thou shalt know that thy tabernacle shall be in peace.

Book of Job, V. 23-4

THE CAMP .

N

A NIGHT AMONG THE PINES

IGHT is a dead monotonous period under a roof; but in the open world it passes lightly, with its stars and dews and perfumes, and the hours are marked by changes in the face of Nature. What seems a kind of temporal death to people choked between walls and curtains, is only a light and living slumber to the man who sleeps afield. All night long he can hear Nature breathing deeply and freely; even as she takes her rest, she turns and smiles; and there is one stirring hour unknown to those who dwell in houses, when a wakeful influence goes abroad over the sleeping hemisphere, and all the outdoor world are on their feet. It is then that the cock first crows, not this time to announce the dawn, but like a cheerful watchman speeding the course of night. Cattle awake on the meadows; sheep break their fast on dewy hillsides, and change to a new lair among the ferns; and houseless men, who have lain down with the fowls, open their dim eyes and behold the beauty of the night.

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We are disturbed in our slumber only, like the luxurious Montaigne, 'that we may the better and more sensibly relish it." We have a moment to look upon the stars. And there is a special pleasure for some minds in the reflection that we share the impulse with all out-door creatures in our neighborhood, that we have escaped out of

the Bastille of civilization, and are become, for the time being, a mere kindly animal and a sheep of Nature's flock.

Robert Louis Stevenson

UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE

UNDER the green wood tree,

Who loves to lie with me,

And tune his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat,

Come hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live i' the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,

And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

Shakespeare

COME

FAIRY BREAD

OME up here, O dusty feet!
Here is fairy bread to eat.

Here in my retiring room,

Children, you may dine

On the golden smell of broom
And the shade of pine;

And when you have eaten well,

Fairy stories hear and tell.

Robert Louis Stevenson

T

A CAMP

HE bed was made, the room was fit,
By punctual eve the stars were lit;
The air was still, the water ran,

No need was there for maid or man,
When we put up, my ass and I,
At God's green caravanserai.

Robert Louis Stevenson

THE FAIRIES

F ye will with Mab find grace,

in

Rake the fire up, and get

Water in, ere sun be set.

Wash your pails and cleanse your dairies,

Sluts are loathsome to the fairies;

Sweep your house; Who doth not so,

Mab will pinch her by the toe.

Robert Herrick

TO PHILLIS, TO LOVE AND LIVE WITH HIM

LIVE, live with me, and thou shalt see

The pleasures I'll prepare for thee:

What sweets the country can afford
Shall bless thy bed, and bless thy board.
The soft sweet moss shall be thy bed,
With crawling woodbine over-spread:
By which the silver-shedding streams
Shall gently melt thee into dreams.

Thy feasting-table shall be hills
With daisies spread, and daffodils;

Where thou shalt sit, and Red-breast by,
For meat, shall give thee melody.

Robert Herrick

THE HOUSE OF THE TREES

Ο

PE your doors and take me in,
Spirit of the wood,

Wash me clean of dust and din,
Clothe me in your mood.

Take me from the noisy light
To the sunless peace,
Where at mid-day standeth Night
Signing Toil's release.

All your dusky twilight stores

To my senses give;

Take me in and lock the doors,
Show me how to live.

Lift your leafy roof for me,
Part your yielding walls:
Let me wander lingeringly
Through your scented halls.

Ope your doors and take me in,
Spirit of the wood;

Take me- make me next of kin

To your leafy brood.

Ethelwyn Wetherald

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