In a quiet forest, the speaker turns inward and addresses her own heart as if it were a companion. Together they build a funeral pyre not of wood but of fallen white petals and reddening leaves, burning the “dear dreams that are dead” in the heat of noon. There is exhaustion in the tone: the heart has carried these dead dreams too long, and the speaker longs for rest, for scattering the ashes and mourning briefly. Yet the grief does not become final. As evening shadows come, she knows they must rise again and return to the world’s conflict and crowds. The poem ends with quiet resolve: they will gather whatever dreams remain and meet life’s sorrow through song. The mood is tender, weary, and ultimately resilient—a private ritual of letting go before facing life again.
In the Forest — Summary
Here, O my heart, let us burn the dear dreams that are dead, Here in this wood let us fashion a funeral pyre Of fallen white petals and leaves that are mellow and red, Here let us burn them in noon's flaming torches of fire.
We are weary, my heart, we are weary, so long we have borne The heavy loved burden of dreams that are dead, let us rest, Let us scatter their ashes away, for a while let us mourn; We will rest, O my heart, till the shadows are gray in the west.
But soon we must rise, O my heart, we must wander again Into the war of the world and the strife of the throng; Let us rise, O my heart, let us gather the dreams that remain, We will conquer the sorrow of life with the sorrow of song.