noon
And yet I would not . I would rather stay And talk with these green woods , -- for woods can talk . Didst ever hear their voice ? In spring they speak Of early love and youth , and ardent hope ; In summer , of the noon of wedded life , All buds and blossoms and sweet-smelling flowers ; In autumn , of domestic bliss with all its fund Of ripe enjoyments , and then winter hears The leafless trees sing mysterious hymns , And point their long lean arms to homes above . Yes , the old woods talk , and I might hold A sweet communion here with them to-night . Farewell to Night ; farewell these thoughts of mine , For day hath come . NOT DEAD , BUT CHANGED .