The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

The Hawkswood oaks, the storm-torn plumes
     Of old pine-forest kings,
Beneath whose century-woven shade
     Deer Island's mistress sings.

And here are pictured Artichoke,
     And Curson's bowery mill;
And Pleasant Valley smiles between
     The river and the hill.

You know full well these banks of bloom,
     The upland's wavy line,
And how the sunshine tips with fire
     The needles of the pine.

Yet, like some old remembered psalm,
     Or sweet, familiar face,
Not less because of commonness
     You love the day and place.

And not in vain in this soft air
     Shall hard-strung nerves relax,
Not all in vain the o'erworn brain
     Forego its daily tax.

The lust of power, the greed of gain
     Have all the year their own;
The haunting demons well may let
     Our one bright day alone.