THERE were trees that spring—
One on a little hill,
One in a small, green field.
One stood a leaf-stripped thing;
One had begun to fill
With leaves from shoots unsealed,
With purple flowers along the wood—
So those trees stood.

One bore up a Form
On the clean branches nailed,
Ineffable in peace:
One bent as if a storm
In its descent had trailed
Down the red blossom-fleece;
And where the boughs most sullen hung
A crisped form swung.

One the Tree of Life—
Both near Jerusalem—
And one of Death the Tree!
One bore a bitter strife;
A cry came from its stem:
“Thou hast forsaken Me!”
The other heard no sound at all,
Save a dumb fall.

Both were gibbet-trees—
From one was said, “Forgive!
They know not what they do.”
One rocked in purple breeze
Despair, that would not live,
Nor trust forgiveness:—no!
And from the wreathÈd branches fell
A soul to Hell.