Trees #25

Drips the soaking rain,

Where the tumbling surf,

Relieved he many a racking pain,

Sentinel the ending line,

Waits the rising sign,


Anticipate a promised bliss,

And the slipping sea,

And the wilted thyme,

But a surrounding atmosphere, whereby

And the softly tinted cheek,


And the tenderly rocking mountain

Mark the nicely rounded paunch

There sometimes doth a leaping fish

When first the wandering eye

Far away the bounding prey


And everywhere the trembling air

And at last the crowning deed

And far away the spreading farms

Once again the twisted branches

Than ever yet the wondering voyager


Then wherefore sully the entrusted gem

Settle once more this floating isle!

How soft the falling dew!

How beautiful the setting sun!

Where wail the lost forevermore.