THE SAD YEARS
THE TREE UPROOTED
The earth-bound giant now is free, is free;
The last fight over, and the last moan still;
No tale of snow-clad heights where great dreams be,
His exile heart can thrill.
Ah, how he cried with groaning branch and bough!
For that far land beyond the sunshine morn,
For that lost joy tilled earth will not allow,
That land where he was born.
Ah! how his heart that fought for freedom pined;
His leaves, like restless fingers, tried to hold
The trailing garments of the passing wind,
His struggle manifold.
The four winds heard and strove with mighty hands
To bear him back to that far northern height
Where he was born; loosed from his earthly bands,
He poised, a moment's flight.
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