Poems By Mary Elizabeth Coleridge |
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| LXVII. | LXVIITHE LADY OF TREES |
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 | Poems |  |
LXVII
THE LADY OF TREES
By a lake below the mountain
Hangs the birch, as if, in glee,
The lake had flung the moon a fountain,
She had turned it to a tree.
Hangs the birch, as if, in glee,
The lake had flung the moon a fountain,
She had turned it to a tree.
66
Therefore do her dull leaves glimmer
Like the waves that mothered them.
Therefore flits a moony shimmer
Always round her curvèd stem.
Like the waves that mothered them.
Therefore flits a moony shimmer
Always round her curvèd stem.
| Poems | |