I will wait, said wood, and it did.
Ten years, a hundred, a thousand, a million—
It did not matter. Time was not its measure,
Not its keeper, nor its master.
Wood was trees in those first days.
And when wood sang, it was leaves,
|1555||Written With a Diamond on Her Window at Woodstock|
|1557||They Flee from Me||Thomas Wyatt|
|1557||My Galley Charged with Forgetfulness||Thomas Wyatt|
|1579||Shepheardes Calendar [October]||Edmund Spenser|
|1595||O||Mary Sidney Herbert|
|1595||Poem 1||Edmund Spenser|
|1596||A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act II, Scene I [Over hill, over dale]||William Shakespeare|
|1597||Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene II [Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds]||William Shakespeare|
|1598||Love's Labour's Lost, Act V, Scene 2 [Winter]||William Shakespeare|