THE DYING SYCAMORES.
121
Against the soft blue sky they stand,
Their naked limbs outspread,
And to the throbbing life around,
They murmur of the dead.
Their naked limbs outspread,
And to the throbbing life around,
They murmur of the dead.
Spring, with her soft and odorous breath,
Hath sighed o’er them in vain,
Nor sun, nor dew, nor summer shower,
Awakes their bloom again.
Hath sighed o’er them in vain,
Nor sun, nor dew, nor summer shower,
Awakes their bloom again.
Oh stately monarchs of the wood,
What blight hath o’er ye passed?
What canker wastes your noble hearts?
What spell is on ye cast?
What blight hath o’er ye passed?
What canker wastes your noble hearts?
What spell is on ye cast?
I watch ye where a thousand forms
With life and beauty glow,
Till half I deem that on ye lies
Some weight of human woe.
With life and beauty glow,
Till half I deem that on ye lies
Some weight of human woe.
Sad emblems are ye of those hearts
In this fair world of ours,
Who live unloving and unloved,
Oh dying Sycamores.
In this fair world of ours,
Who live unloving and unloved,
Oh dying Sycamores.
