Forests

Canadian poet Archibald Lampman [1861-1899] wrote some interesting work, especially this yearning, dream you want to visit of fall or winter in the countryside:

IN NOVEMBER.

The hills and leafless forests slowly yieldTo the thick-driving snow. A little whileAnd night shall darken down. In shouting fileThe woodmen's carts go by me homeward-wheeled,Past the thin fading stubbles, half concealed,Now golden-grey, sowed softly through with snow,Where the last ploughman follows still his row,Turning black furrows through the whitening field.

Far off the village lamps begin to gleam,Fast drives the snow, and no man comes this way;The hills grow wintery white, and bleak winds moanAbout the naked uplands. I aloneAm neither sad, nor shelterless, nor grey,Wrapped round with thought, content to watch and dream.