On a Fox Hunt in the Endless Mountains

[edgarspencer]

Frank, Your photos stir my memory of one of the few poems that ever had much of an impact on me. I may have shared this before, but indulge me.

I love the grand old forest when it's dressed in brightest green.
When the violets are blooming in the dells along the stream.
When it's sylvan shades are ringing with the song of many a bird,
And the woodland fairies' love notes through the pines are nightly heard.

I love the grand old forest when it's leaves are turning gold,
When the colors of the rainbow brightly gleam in every fold.
When the quail tunes up his whistle, and the partridge beats his drum,
And the siren voice of nature bids the woodland hunter come.

I love the grand old forest, when it's covered o'er with white.
When the silver moonbeams glisten on it's branches through the night.
When it's soft and fleecy carpet gives no echo to your tread,
And the only sound that lingers is the night wind overhead.

Yes, I love the grand old forest, through it's shifting, changing scene.
Whether white or gold and crimson, or beauteous shades of green.
For it brings me health and pleasure, as the swift years come and go,
And I'm better for an outing in the forest shades I know.