The woods

by Douglas Malloch

For we wander far, and the years go by, and the boyhood vision fades,

Yet we are the sons of the mothers of men and brother to all the maids.

And it is not there in the wild alone that the souls of men forget;

In the house of pride, on the polished stair, where the gilded ones are met,

I have heard the tale that is often told on the dirty bar-room floor

While the idle smiled, and the lounger laughed, and the bestial asked for more.

For the thing we are is the thing we are, not the thing in garments new;

And the coat that fits is the tailor’s coat, but the man inside is you.

It is such as I, it is such as you, that have made the jests and jades—

Yet we are the sons of the mothers of men and brother to all the maids.