Classic Poem

O silent stirring trees of the sylvan,
Though hidden upon this earthly seat
Apart from all phases queerly grown,
From distant field we mark the ghastly
Scent of stalk and branch between
The blossomed herd; its purity alien
Of riches green bends in ocean grace.
O'er the leas spread the tears of hue.
Assumed Heaven's seat beyond royal trace.
The forms of each pine and oak,
The molds between their stately known
That reach the lofty heavens' sweep of
Dew and pour them upon the ground,
Dethrone each season in pregnant dreams a gown.