Ye have one tale to tell!
Lost is that camp, but let its fragrant story
Blend with the breath that thrills
With hop-vines’ incense all the pensive glory
That fills the Kentish hills.
And on that grave where English oak, and holly
And laurel wreaths entwine,
Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly—
This spray of Western pine!
—Copyright by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston, Mass., and used by their kind permission.