The Call of the Woods

By Edgar Albert Guest

I must get out to the woods again, to the whispering trees and the birds awing,

Away from the haunts of pale-faced men, to the spaces wide where strength is king;

I must get out where the skies are blue and the air is clean and the rest is sweet,

Out where there's never a task to do or a goal to reach or a foe to meet.

I must get out on the trails once more that wind through shadowy haunts and cool,

Away from the presence of wall and door, and see myself in a crystal pool;

I must get out with the silent things, where neither laughter nor hate is heard,

Where malice never the humblest stings and no one is hurt by a spoken word.