Deep in the woods and deeper you may stray,
And listen to the wood-doves cooing low,
And half forget the sultry summer day,
The cornfields shining-bladed row on row,
The road where creaking, creeping ox-carts go;--
The while your willing feet will press a shaded way
Deep in the woods and deeper you may stray,
And listen to the wood-doves cooing low,
Or watch the strong, wild grape vine slowly sway
While little fitful breezes die, or blow,--
Where some old log lies, fallen, hollow, gray,
Soft moss will creep, and graven-lichen grow,
Deep in the woods and deeper you may stray
And listen to the wood-doves cooing low.
