Here stands the great tree still, with broad bent head; Its wide arms grown aweary, yet outspread With their old blessing. But wan memory weaves Strange garlands, now, amongst the darkening leaves....
Here stands the great tree still, with broad, bent head, And wide arms grown aweary, yet outspread With their old blessing. But wan memory weaves Strange garlands now amongst the darkening leaves....
Lo, all about the lofty blue are blown Light vapors white, like thistle-down, That from their softened silver heaps opaque Scatter delicate flake by flake, Upon the wide loom of the heavens weaving...
O jay - Blue-jay! What are you trying to say? I remember, in the spring You pretended you could sing; But your voice is now still queerer, And as yet you've come no nearer To a song....