 | Metrical essays |  |
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THE TREE.
Is it not beautiful—when Spring calls forthIts countless shining leaves—and Winter's hands
Have loosed their withering hold upon the lands,
To wave their stormy banners in the north:—
Is it not beautiful—when Summer breathes
'Mid its red blossoms, like the richest wine,
And the clear sky sends down its warm sunshine,
In one broad radiance o'er its graceful wreaths—
Is it not beautiful—when gentle birds
Pass their melodious lives among its boughs;
Winning each other with soft music-vows,
Sweet as in starlight hours sound lovers' words?
Too soon it dies—while unkind storms assail,
A type of beauty—fading, fair and frail!
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