Poems By Richard Chenevix Trench: New ed |
 | I. |
ON A YEW-TREE
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| II. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
|
 | Poems |  |
181
ON A YEW-TREE
IN HOUND CHURCHYARD, HANTS.
Polled from this ancient yew-tree may have been
The branch, with which some English archer sped
His arrow, when the bravest stooped their head,
The boldest chivalry of France were seen
A moment's while beneath that tempest keen
To bow their mailëd fronts at Azincour.
Such age is thine, who yet dost still endure,
Unto thy topmost branches fresh and green.
The branch, with which some English archer sped
His arrow, when the bravest stooped their head,
The boldest chivalry of France were seen
A moment's while beneath that tempest keen
To bow their mailëd fronts at Azincour.
Such age is thine, who yet dost still endure,
Unto thy topmost branches fresh and green.
I said—it was a moment in my thought—
In thy continuance thou must see in scorn
Man's feeble generations, that are born
And die, and then unto thy feet are brought.
But no—for they who are of Nature taught,
And Nature's self, are evermore too wise
For barren scorn—her truer sympathies
Grieve with us o'er the ruin death has wrought.
In thy continuance thou must see in scorn
Man's feeble generations, that are born
And die, and then unto thy feet are brought.
But no—for they who are of Nature taught,
And Nature's self, are evermore too wise
For barren scorn—her truer sympathies
Grieve with us o'er the ruin death has wrought.
Thou too, thy many hundred summers past,
Thy many hundred winters that have seen
Thee in thy dark robe of unfailing green,
Once and for all must lay it off at last:
While that which at thy feet was sown, and cast
To darkness and dishonour, that weak thing
Shall live again, and in continual spring
Hold ever its immortal beauty fast.
Thy many hundred winters that have seen
Thee in thy dark robe of unfailing green,
Once and for all must lay it off at last:
While that which at thy feet was sown, and cast
To darkness and dishonour, that weak thing
Shall live again, and in continual spring
Hold ever its immortal beauty fast.
| Poems | |