Might e’er enshrine:—I could not hear thee sigh
To the wind’s faintest whisper, nor behold
One shiver of thy leaves’ dim silvery green,
Without high thoughts and solemn of that scene
When in the Garden the Redeemer prayed—
When pale stars looked upon His fainting head,
And angels, ministering in silent dread,
Trembled, perchance, within thy trembling shade.
Hemans.
How vainly men themselves amaze