And the words of the trees on my senses fell—
By a spirit of Beauty haunted:—
Said each to each, in mystic speech:—
“The skies our branches nourish;—
The world is good,—the world is fair,—
Let us enjoy and flourish!”
Again I heard the steadfast trees;
The wintry winds were blowing;
There seem’d a roar as of stormy seas,
And of ships to the depths down-going.