Like antlers, like veins of the brain the birches
Mark patterns of mind on the red winter sky;
‘I am thought of all plants,’ says the Green Man,
‘I am thought of all plants,’ says he.
The hungry birds harry the last berries of rowan
But white is her bark in the darkness of rain;
‘I rise with the sap,’ says the Green Man,
‘I rise with the sap,’ says he.
The ashes are clashing their boughs like sword-dancers,
Their black buds are tracing wild faces in the clouds;
‘I come with the wind,’ says the Green Man,
‘I come with the wind,’ says he.
The alders are rattling as though ready for battle
Guarding the grove where she waits for her lover;
‘I burn with desire,’ says the Green Man,
‘I burn with desire,’ says he.
In and out of the yellowing wands of the willow
The pollen-bright bees are plundering the catkins;
‘I am honey of love,’ says the Green Man,
‘I am honey of love,’ says he.
The hedges of quick are thick with may blossom
As the dancers advance on the leaf-covered King;
‘It’s off with my head,’ says the Green Man,
‘It’s off with my head,’ says he.
Green Man becomes grown man in flames of the oak
As its crown forms his mask and its leafage his features;
‘I speak through the oak,’ says the Green Man,
‘I speak through the oak,’ says he.
The holly is flowering as hayfields are rolling
Their gleaming long grasses like waves of the sea;
‘I shine with the sun,’ says the Green Man,
‘I shine with the sun,’ says he.
The hazels are rocking the cups of their nuts
As the harvesters shout when the last sheaf is cut;
‘I swim with the salmon,’ says the Green Man,
‘I swim with the salmon,’ says he.
The globes of the grapes are robing with bloom
Like the hazes of autumn, like the Milky Way’s stardust;
‘I am crushed for your drink,’ says the Green Man,
‘I am crushed for your drink,’ says he.
The aspen drops silver of leaves on earth’s salver
And the poplars shed gold on the young ivy flowerheads;
‘I have paid for your pleasure,’ says the Green Man,
‘I have paid for your pleasure,’ says he.
The reedbeds are flanking in silence the islands
Where meditates Wisdom as she waits and waits;
‘I have kept her secret,’ says the Green Man,
‘I have kept her secret,’ says he
The bark of the elder makes whistles for children
To call to the deer as they rove over the snow;
‘I am born in the dark,’ says the Green Man,
‘I am born in the dark,’ says he.
Source: Green Man: The Archetype of our Oneness with the Earth by William Anderson