So grim.
Dressed in that rigid livery of nature’s gloom that suits it best.
Hear their stern hymn ...
Dignified, slow,
Sung in proud, solemn majesty of menace and woe.
“Our days as grass ... all earth is but a tomb” ...
What unfathomed gloom ...
Smouldering!
(2)
Keen bitter winds have stripped the great elm trees,