Forest Trees

Monarchs of long-forgotten realms, ye stand;   Majestic, grand; Unscarred by Time’s destructive hand. Enthroned on dais of velvet moss, inset With the royal purple of the violet;   And crowned with mistletoe.

How many ages o’er your heads have flown,   To you is known— To you, ye forest-founders of the past, alone. No other eyes may scan the breadth of years,   Each with its share of peace, and joy, and tears;     Of happiness and woe.

Around you all is changed—where now is land Swift vessels ploughed to foam the seething main; Kingdoms have risen; and the fire-fiend’s hand Has crushed them to their Mother Earth again; And through it all ye stand, and still will stand Till ages yet to come have owned your reign.