The Spruces of the Forest

Unhappy trees, beneath whose graceful branches

No lovers walk, no children ever play;

Who never hear the sound of girlish laughter,

But pass in gloom your silent lives away;

I wonder if ye heed me as I press

My heart to yours in utter loneliness.

I wonder if ye see me as I wander

Along the trail no feet but mine e'er tread;

I wonder if ye hear me when I murmur

The name of one who might as well be dead

So far away, so very far is she —

I wonder if ye heed and pity me?