How do I love you, beech-trees, in the autumn,
Your stone-grey columns a cathedral nave 
Processional above the earth's brown glory! 

I was a child, and I loved the knurly tangle 
Of roots that coiled above a scarp like serpents, 
Where I might hide my treasure with the squirrels.

I was a child, and splashed my way in laughter 
Through drifts of leaves, where underfoot the beech-nuts 
Split with crisp crackle to my great rejoicing. 

Red are the beechen slopes below Shock Tavern, 
Red is the bracken on the sandy Furze-field,
Red are the stags and hinds by Bo-Pit Meadows,

The rutting stags that nightly through the beechwoods 
Bell out their challenge, carrying their antlers 
Proudly beneath the antlered autumn branches.

I was a child, and heard the red deer's challenge 
Prowling and belling underneath my window, 
Never a cry so haughty or so mournful.