II.
A jealous and a tyrant tree,
That seeks to reign alone;
As if the wind's melodious sighs,
The dews and sunshine of the skies,
Were only made for One!
III.
A tree on which the Host of Dreams
Low murmur mystic things,
While hopes, those birds of other skies,
To dreams themselves chant low replies—
Ah, wherefore have they wings?
IV.
The seasons nurse the blight and storm,
The glory leaves the air—
The dreams and birds will pass away,
The blossom wither from the spray—
One day—the stem be bare—
V.
But mine has grown the Dryad's life,
Coeval with the tree;
The sun, the frost, the bloom, the fall,
My fate, sweet tree, must share them all,
To live and die with thee!