oak-woods

Updated: June 23, 2025

The blood brings forth the rose, the tears, the wind-flower. Woe, woe for Adonis, he hath perished; the lovely Adonis! No more in the oak-woods, Cypris, lament thy lord. It is no fair couch for Adonis, the lonely bed of leaves! Thine own bed, Cytherea, let him now possess, the dead Adonis. Ah, even in death he is beautiful, beautiful in death, as one that hath fallen on sleep.

of Phlossa near Smyrna Bion - Theocritus Bion and Moschus Rendered into English Prose

Because it never varies, all can bear The burden of the circumambient air; Because it never ceases, none can hear The music of the ever-rolling sphere None, save the poet, who, in moor and wood, Holds converse with the spirit of Solitude. And I remember how Antaeus heard, Deep in great oak-woods, the mysterious word Which said, "Go forth across the unshaven leas To meet unconquerable Hercules."

Marcius Willson - Mosaics of Grecian History