  It stood on a lonely headland, Pointing far out to sea, Braving the storms of centuries, A venerable giant tree. No other ones grew near it, It towered there alone, As if forever listening To the ocean’s weary moan. And phantom, mysterious voices In its topmost boughs were heard When the wind sobbed o’er the ocean, And its giant form was stirred. It crooned perhaps of a thousand years, Of a thousand years ago, When all life was summerladen, A tender and golden glow. It stands no more on the headland, Pointing far out to sea; It welcomes no more my coming, It complains no more to me. It yielded at last to the tempest, ’Twas forever swept away; Alas, for the vacant places, Time ever winneth the day. I stand to-day on the headland, Looking far out to sea, Tired of life and the burden Forever resting on me. The cold clouds roll stern and gray, Obscuring a tender vision Of a fair land far away. |
|
