Dirge
O happy tree;
Green and fragrant tree;
Spring with budding jewels deckt it like a Bride!
All so fair it bloomed,
And the summer air perfumed;
Golden autumn fruitage smiled in crowns of pride.
O human tree;
Waesome wailing tree;
In the winter wind how it rocks! how it grieves!
On a little low grave-mound,
All its bravery lies discrowned:
O'er its fallen fruit it heaps the withered leaves.