 | Lyra Pastoralis |  |
The Cross and the Aspen Tree
ASPEN GLEN, LOCH SUNART
I carved a Cross upon an Aspen treeIn a lone rocky glen, where nought is heard
Save tinkling burn or cry of mountain bird,
And where the timorous roe-deer wanders free.
And in the leaves which shivered over me
The whisper of an ancient legend stirred—
How on an Aspen hung the dying Word;
And always since it shudders consciously.
Well might a tremor seize the favoured wood
Fibre and leaf for ever, which once bore
That sacred Form, thorn-crowned, and red with blood:
With such sweet sylvan sympathetic lore
My being, heart and action, be imbued,
And thrill with trembling love for evermore.
| Lyra Pastoralis | |