Thou who dost stand on this dear hill where we In halcyon summer days so often played, Leaving our berry-pails beneath thy shade, Once more thy flutt'ring leaves do welcome me! Say, hast thou missed us much, beloved tree?— The roses from some cheeks begin to fade, While some, alas, are in the churchyard laid, And storms have blown on some since they saw thee! Friend of my youth, endure,—a link to bind My life to days that now return no more; May autumn gales and winter winds be kind, And woodman's axe thy sturdy trunk ne'er lower:— Though all beneath thy boughs be still as sleep, Here with those vanished ones a tryst I'll keep. |