Page:A channel passage and other poems (IA channelpassageot00swinrich).pdf/87



years and seven Light and dew from heaven Have fallen with dawn on these glad woods each day Since here was born, even here, A birth more bright and dear Than ever a younger year Hath seen or shall till all these pass away, Even all the imperious pride of these, The woodland ways majestic now with towers of trees.

Love itself hath nought Touched of tenderest thought With holiest hallowing of memorial grace