Who loveth not the elm tree fair...

Who loveth not the elm tree fair,

A fountain green in summer air,

Whose tremulous spray cools the faint meadow,

And croons to all of a careless care?

It shades the city's paven way,

Where redbreast knows the white moon's ray;

It sentinels the moss-grown homestead,

And waits the men of a coming day.

Its curving lines that fill the sight,

Like mellow meteor's path of light,

Or orbèd spring of walls of azure,

My spirit greet from the infinite.