In the Shadow of the Beeches, by Madison Cawein

  In the shadow of the beeches,
    Where the fragile wildflowers bloom;
  Where the pensive silence pleaches
    Green a roof of cool perfume,
  Have you felt an awe imperious
  As when, in a church, mysterious
    Windows paint with God the gloom?

  In the shadow of the beeches,
    Where the rock-ledged waters flow;
  Where the sun's slant splendor bleaches
    Every wave to foaming snow,
  Have you felt a music solemn
  As when minster arch and column
    Echo organ worship low?

  In the shadow of the beeches,
    Where the light and shade are blent;
  Where the forest bird beseeches,
    And the breeze is brimmed with scent,—
  Is it joy or melancholy
  That o'erwhelms us partly, wholly,
    To our spirit's betterment?

  In the shadow of the beeches
    Lay me where no eye perceives;
  Where,—like some great arm that reaches
    Gently as a love that grieves,—
  One gnarled root may clasp me kindly,
  While the long years, working blindly,
    Slowly change my dust to leaves.