Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/91



"The retiring of the mind into itself is the state most susceptible of divine impressions."—.

beautiful you are, green trees! green trees! How nobly beautiful! Fain would I rest 'Neath the broad shadow of your mantling arms, And lose the world's unquiet imagery In the soft mist of dreams. Your curtaining veil Shuts out the revelry and toil, that chafe The city's denizens. Man wars with man, And brethren forage on each other's hearts, Throwing their life-blood in that crucible Which brings forth gold. Unceasingly we strive, And gaze at gauds, and cling to wind-swept reeds, Then darkly sink, and die. But here ye stand, Your moss-grown roots by hidden moisture fed, And on your towering heads the dews that fall From God's right hand. I love your sacred lore, And to the silence you have learn'd of Him Bow down my spirit. Not a whispering leaf Uplifts itself, to mar the holy pause Of meditation. Doth not wisdom dwell With silence and with nature? From the throng