 | Mystic Trees |  |
BELOVED, MY GLORY IN THEE IS NOT CEASED
Beloved, my glory in thee is not ceased,Whereas, as thou art waning, forests wane:
Unmoved, as by the victim is the priest,
I pass the world's great altitudes of pain.
But when the stars are gathered for a feast,
Or shadows threaten on a radiant plain,
Or many golden cornfields wave amain,
Oh then, as one from a filled shuttle weaves,
My spirit grieves.
| Mystic Trees | |