Poems (Denver)/The Dead Tree in the Forest

by Mary Caroline Denver

THE DEAD TREE IN THE FOREST.

Left amidst his green companions,
 In that frowning solitude,
Like a stricken, crownless monarch,
 Stood the lone one of the wood.
Bared his limbs, and tempest-shaken,
 Motionless his strong arms now;
And the coronal of triumph
 Bloomed no longer on his brow.

There was music in the fountain
 That went sparkling at his feet;
There was sweetness where the flowers
 Nestled in their green retreat;
And the southern breezes offered
 (Wandering joyous and elate),
Incense to his lofty comrades,
 Heedless of his lone estate.

And the deep and far-off river,
 Whose majestic murmurs stole
On the air with gathering glory,
 Like the swelling of a soul
When it bounds, to burst asunder
 Bands that held it captive long,
Failed to waken one pulsation
 With its ever-sounding song.

Yet the sunset, softly sparkling,
 Fell upon his aged brow,
And his bare and withered branches
 Smiled beneath the summer-glow;
And I read my heart a lesson
 Of that old and lonely tree,
As it stood within the sunshine,
 Looking upward reverently.

Like a poor man, 'midst the grandeur
 And the glory of the great,
Standing silent and forsaken,
 Sad, forlorn, and desolate,—

So, unto my thoughtful spirit,
 Seemed that old, deserted tree,
Left amidst its green companions
 Waving in their careless glee.

But the sunlight of the Gospel
 Falls in softness on his heart,
And it sheds a halo round him,
 That will never more depart;
So he stands, unknown, unnoted,
 Looking upward reverently.
For the last and final summons,
 Like that maimed and ancient tree.