 | Poems |  |
LXXVII
LINES TO A TREE
Thou art the sun, and the wind, and the driving shower.
Thou hast worn the snow, and clothed thyselt in her flower:
Lo, there is living in thee the ancient Light!
The sons of the morning sang Hosanna at thy creation.
Old thou art—and young—as an ever-enduring nation.
Thou art a thousand shapes of the day and a thousand shapes of the night!
Thou hast worn the snow, and clothed thyselt in her flower:
Lo, there is living in thee the ancient Light!
The sons of the morning sang Hosanna at thy creation.
Old thou art—and young—as an ever-enduring nation.
Thou art a thousand shapes of the day and a thousand shapes of the night!
79
Thou that shadowest ever a bounded circlet of earth,
Who shall sing thy end that sang thy wonderful birth?
Haply the fire that was once thy friend shall turn to thy foe,
Fall on thee, lightning swift, as the gleam of a sword and the flash,
Rend thy cherishing bark till it burst in twain with a crash,
Scorch the leaves of thy crown and lay thee low!
Who shall sing thy end that sang thy wonderful birth?
Haply the fire that was once thy friend shall turn to thy foe,
Fall on thee, lightning swift, as the gleam of a sword and the flash,
Rend thy cherishing bark till it burst in twain with a crash,
Scorch the leaves of thy crown and lay thee low!
Solemn sentinel, leaving never thy chosen post,
Haply the waves shall carry thee, wind-blown and tempest-tost,
No more a nest of the birds, but a home for wandering men,
Merchants, warriors, mighty captains of them that roam,
Thou shalt sink, as they sink, to the stillness under the foam,
Fishes, silent and swift, glide in thy branches then!
Haply the waves shall carry thee, wind-blown and tempest-tost,
No more a nest of the birds, but a home for wandering men,
Merchants, warriors, mighty captains of them that roam,
80
Fishes, silent and swift, glide in thy branches then!
Haply thou shalt be made the sails of a grinding mill,
Thou shalt rejoice in the sun and the wind be thy playfellow still,
Whirling and whirling to change into bread the golden corn!
Haply of thee shall be made at the last a quivering flame;
That shall return in light, in the glory of light that came,
Fire shall befriend thee yet, O marvellous child of the morn!
Thou shalt rejoice in the sun and the wind be thy playfellow still,
Whirling and whirling to change into bread the golden corn!
Haply of thee shall be made at the last a quivering flame;
That shall return in light, in the glory of light that came,
Fire shall befriend thee yet, O marvellous child of the morn!
| Poems | |