Their forms gigantic, and their stretching boughs,
As if they slumbered in the midnight air.
Short shadows cast they on the even ground,
Night’s silver regent hath her throne so nigh
The summit of heaven’s arch. Along the lawn
How softly spreads the radiant plain of snow,
More smooth and level than a temple floor
Of alabaster framed. O’er all the beds
And borders ranged for flowers, no smaller shrub
Or plant can shew a branch; but buried deep