He who does not feel its grandeur
In his very soul
Must be in his nature frozen
As the Arctic pole.
In his very soul
Must be in his nature frozen
As the Arctic pole.
Grand old trees, a thousand questions,
I would yet propound,
For 1 know with weird traditions
Your past lives abound;
I would bid you tell your story
Since your lives began,
But I know you never told it
To the ear of man;
I would yet propound,
For 1 know with weird traditions
Your past lives abound;
I would bid you tell your story
Since your lives began,
But I know you never told it
To the ear of man;
So content with simply knowing what you are to-day,
Happy as the laughing children
'Neath your boughs at play,
I can gather stores of wisdom
From your very looks;
I can feel what sages never
Found in hoards of books.
Happy as the laughing children
'Neath your boughs at play,
I can gather stores of wisdom
From your very looks;
I can feel what sages never
Found in hoards of books.
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