 | Poems, original and translated |  |
THE VOICE OF THE PINE.
O tall old pine! old gloomy pine!
Old grim, gigantic, gloomy pine!
What is there in that voice of thine
That thrills so deep this heart of mine?
Old grim, gigantic, gloomy pine!
What is there in that voice of thine
That thrills so deep this heart of mine?
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Is it that in thy mournful sigh
Old years and voices long gone by,
And feelings that can never die,
Come thronging back on memory?
Old years and voices long gone by,
And feelings that can never die,
Come thronging back on memory?
Is it that in thy solemn roar
My listening spirit hears once more
The trumpet-music of the host
Of billows round my native coast?
My listening spirit hears once more
The trumpet-music of the host
Of billows round my native coast?
Or is it that I catch a sound
Of that more vast and dread profound,—
The soul's unfathomable sea,
The ocean of eternity?
Of that more vast and dread profound,—
The soul's unfathomable sea,
The ocean of eternity?
| Poems, original and translated | |