Timberland
Tell you tales of pleasant cities, where processions never ending
Throng the streets at morn and even, while the traffic screams and roars;
Where 'tis ever keen contriving,
Each man with his neighbour striving;
Where tall houses hang together, and there ain't no out-of-doors?
Sing you songs of crowds careering: days of rush and nights of clamour;
Where there's ne'er a glimpse of greenwood to relieve the aching eyes.
Not for me their schemes nor pleasures;
Not for me their modes nor measures—
Give me life as strong men live it where the timber ranges rise.
Where the timber-trucks come swinging down the curving hill-side track;
Where the splitter trudges singing with his weekly tucker pack;
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