“Very old are the woods;And the buds that breakOut of the brier's boughs,When March winds wake,So old with their beauty are--Oh, no man knowsThrough what wild centuriesRoves back the rose.”
In the poem "Very old are the woods," Walter de la Mare reflects on the timeless beauty of nature, using the image of ancient woods and blooming flowers to convey a sense of age and mystery. The speaker marvels at the ageless quality of the woods and the flowers, suggesting that their beauty stretches back through untold centuries. This quote evokes a sense of wonder and awe at the enduring power of nature.
The beauty and resilience of nature, as captured in Walter de la Mare's poem, continue to inspire awe and wonder in today's world. The imagery of the ancient woods and the timeless beauty of the blooming buds serve as a reminder of the enduring cycles of life and growth that transcend human understanding. In a fast-paced and ever-changing society, this poem invites us to pause and appreciate the profound mysteries and enduring beauty of the natural world.
“Very old are the woods; And the buds that break Out of the brier's boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are-- Oh, no man knows Through what wild centuries Roves back the rose.” - Walter de la Mare
This poem by Walter de la Mare reflects on the timeless beauty of nature and the mystery of its origins. Here are some questions to ponder after reading this poem:
“In these days of faith-cures, and hypnotism, and telepathy, and subliminalities – why, the simple old world grows very confusing. But rarely, very rarely novel.”
“It was a pity thoughts always ran the easiest way, like water in old ditches.”
“After all, what is every man? A horde of ghosts – like a Chinese nest of boxes – oaks that were acorns that were oaks. Death lies behind us, not in front – in our ancestors, back and back until...”
“We are *all* we are, and all in a sense we care to dream we are. And for that matter, anything outlandish, bizarre, is a godsend in this rather stodgy life. It is after all just what the old boy said – it's only the impossible that's credible; whatever credible may mean...”
“Oh, pity the poor gluttonWhose troubles all beginIn struggling on and on to turnWhat's out into what's in.”
“Hi! handsome hunting manFire your little gun.Bang! Now the animalis dead and dumb and done.Nevermore to peep again, creep again, leap again,Eat or sleep or drink again. Oh, what fun!”