O thou grand monarch of the spacious wood, Whose towering head o'er-topped thy brother trees, Whose regal crown of foliage once stood And first caught secrets of the whispering breeze; Why didst thou fall and to what fault is due Thy present state; now brother to the clod Art thou indeed, whom once the forests knew As king supreme and recognized as lord. Did wintry winds or lightning's cruel stroke Reveal thy heart and humble thee to earth, Or Nature's sport when she the stillness woke With earthquake laughter from her boundless mirth, Or was it Time whose conquering scythe doth mow The aged down, nor stops to answer why, But seeks its pleasures with the young that grow With naught but youth and self to gratify? Oh, sleep in peace, thou fallen sovereign, Thy kingdom lives, thy children rule the vale, Thy rest is earned and ne'er wilt thou again Be sport for storms nor bend with howling gale; May clinging moss and gently creeping vine Enshroud thy form and hide thy limbs from view, And build thy crypt from Nature's own design For her dead kings; it is indeed thy due. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MARMOZET by HILAIRE BELLOC SAPPHIC SUICIDE NOTE by JAMES GALVIN THE CENTER OF GRAVITY by DAVID IGNATOW IN LOVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 4. NEW JERSEY by CLARENCE MAJOR |