I

Remote, upon the sunset shrine
Of a green hill, a lonely pine
Beckons this hungry heart of mine.

" Draw near, " it always seems to say,
Look thither whensoe'er I may
From the dull routine of my way:

" I hold for thee the heavens in trust;
My priestly branches toward thee thrust.
Absolve thy fret, assoil thy dust. "

II

Yet if I come it heeds not me;
The stars amid the branches see
But lonely man and lonely tree, —

And lonely earth that holds in thrall
Her creatures, while Eve gathers all
To fold within her shadowy wall.

Now, with this spell around me thrown,
Dreaming of social pleasures flown,
I grieve, yet joy, to be alone;

While whispering through its solitude,
Far from its green-robed brotherhood,
The pine tree shares my wonted mood.

It museth that felicity
Which, being not, we deem may be,
And mingles hope and certainty.

III

In starry senate doth arise
The lumined spirit of the skies,
Walking with radiant ministries.

Yet in my lonely pine tree dwells,
When 'mid its breast the warm wind swells,
A prophet of sweet oracles.

Like a faint sea on far-off shore,
With its low elfin roll and roar,
It speaks one language evermore; —

One language, unconstrained and free,
The converse of the answering sea,
The old rune of Eternity.

Then, from this lonely sunset shrine,
I turn to toils and cares of mine,
And, grateful, bless my healing pine.