Richard Monckton Milnes, Lord Houghton (1809–1885)

I LOVE the forest; I could dwell among

That silent people, till my thoughts upgrew

In nobly ordered form, as to my view

Rose the succession of that lofty throng.

The mellow footstep on a ground of leaves

Formed by the slow decay of numerous years,

The couch of moss, whose growth alone appears

Beneath the fir’s inhospitable eaves,

The chirp and flutter of some single bird,

The rustle in the brake,—what precious store

Of joys have these on poets’ hearts conferred?

And then at times to send one’s own voice out,

In the full frolic of one startling shout,

Only to feel the after-stillness more.