Page:History of Oregon Literature.djvu/481

But I, when blossom and fruit are gone,
 Yearn, steadfast, to the skies.

I am a prayer and a praise,
 A sermon and a song;
My leaf-chords thrill at the wind's will
 To nocturnes deep and strong;
Or the sea's far lyric melodies
 They echo and prolong.
When April flashing up the hill
 Freshens my green attire,
I light my candles, tall and pale,
 With holy scarlet fire—
And straight their incense mounts to God,
 Pure as a soul's desire.

My branches poise upon the air,
 Like soft and level wings;
My trembling leaves the wind awakes
 To a harp of emerald strings—
Or thro' the violet silences
 A golden vesper sings.
I am a symbol and a sign...
 Thro' blue or rose or gray;
Thro' rain and dark; thro' storms of night;
 Thro' opaline lights of day—
Slowly and patiently up to God
 I make my beautiful way.

Oregon

The heart at thought of Oregon
 Quickens with old delights;
Balm-shaken fragrance of the rain,
 Blue gentian days
 And emerald ways
And red-rose nights.
 The music of Willamette's falls
 That, lost, still pleads and calls;