Ancient, mysterious tree!
What secrets deep lie hidden in thy breast?
’Twere strange, indeed, if aught could be at rest,
Knowing what’s known to thee.
Thou hast outlived thy race!
Lone dweller, thou, amid decay and death,
Where e’en the violet, with her perfumed breath,
No eye may ever trace.
Amid thy foliage dim
The wild bee murmurs not, nor e’er is heard,