"Coming to woods in light spring rain,

I know I am not too late.

                   In my week

of walking down from the White Mountains,

I dreamt I might die before

familiar woods woke me.

                   Come slowly,

the way leaves come, I’ve arrived at

their turnings: from bronze, gold, wine

to all greens….''

--From “Coming to,’’ by Philip Booth

"Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.''

-- "Nothing Gold Can  Stay,'' by Robert Frost