The close green hedge, as table set With gold, has caught the pointed leaves; The beech and linden now are met, Their mingled color earth receives. But in the twilight's rolling mist, When kindled fires through low mounds reach, The glowing skeletons insist "But I was oak" and "I was beech." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 85. AL-MUKSIT by EDWIN ARNOLD NEW YEAR'S EVE by MATHILDE BLIND A CURE FOR POETRY by ANNABELLA (GUISE) BLOUNT LONG AGO by CLARA EXLINE BOCKOVEN TO A NEW YORK SHOP-GIRL DRESSED FOR SUNDAY by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |