IN THE SHADOW OF THE BEECHES

In the shadow of the beeches,

Where the fragile wildflowers bloom;

Where the pensive silence pleaches

Green a roof of cool perfume,

Have you felt an awe imperious

As when, in a church, mysterious

Windows paint with God the gloom?

In the shadow of the beeches,

Where the rock-ledged waters flow;

Where the sun's slant splendor bleaches

Every wave to foaming snow,

Have you felt a music solemn

As when minster arch and column

Echo organ worship low?

In the shadow of the beeches,

Where the light and shade are blent;

Where the forest bird beseeches,

And the breeze is brimmed with scent,—

Is it joy or melancholy

That o'erwhelms us partly, wholly,

To our spirit's betterment?

In the shadow of the beeches

Lay me where no eye perceives;

Where,— like some great arm that reaches

Gently as a love that grieves,—

One gnarled root may clasp me kindly,

While the long years, working blindly,

Slowly change my dust to leaves.