O fair and forest tree Where shall your great hands be, In depths of shadows black Or test in air? And shall you hold the stain Of sunlight or of rain When I walk down the wood And find you there? And shall the moonlight soft O'er swathe thee from aloft, Like any faithful saint To reverence wed? Or shall the thunder crash, And wave its burning lash, Leaving a hundred monarchs Stricken and dead? |