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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=413329" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Ghosts Of The Trees</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The silver fangs of the mighty axe,<br>Bit to the blood of our giant boles;<br>It smote our breasts and smote our backs,<br>Thunder'd the front-cleared leaves--<br>As sped in fire,<br>The whirl and flame of scarlet leaves<br>With strong desire<br>Leaped to the air our captive souls.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">While down our corpses thunder'd,<br>The air at our strong souls gazed and wondered<br>And cried to us, 'Ye<br>Are full of all mystery to me!<br>I saw but thy plumes of leaves,<br>Thy strong, brown greaves;<br>The sinewy roots and lusty branches,<br>And fond and anxious,<br>I laid my ear and my restless breast<br>By each pride-high crest;<br>And softly stole<br>And listen'd by limb and listen'd by bole,<br>Nor ever the stir of a soul,<br>Heard I in ye--<br>Great is the mystery!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The strong, brown eagle plung'd from his peak,<br>From the hollow iron of his beak;<br>The wood pigeon fell; its breast of blue<br>Cold with sharp death all thro' and thro',<br>To our ghosts he cried.<br>'With talons of steel,<br>I hold the storm;<br>Where the high peaks reel,<br>My young lie warm.<br>In the wind-rock'd spaces of air I bide;<br>My wings too wide--<br>Too angry-strong for the emerald gyves,<br>Of woodland cell where the meek dove thrives.<br>And when at the bar,<br>Of morn I smote with my breast its star,<br>And under--<br>My wings grew purple, the jealous thunder,<br>With the flame of the skies<br>Hot in my breast, and red in my eyes;<br>From peak to peak of sunrise pil'd<br>That set space glowing,<br>With flames from air-based crater's blowing--<br>I downward swept, beguiled<br>By the close-set forest gilded and spread<br>A sea for the lordly tread,<br>Of a God's wardship--<br>I broke its leafy turf with my breast;<br>My iron lip<br>I dipp'd in the cool of each whispering crest;<br>From thy leafy steeps,<br>I saw in my deeps,<br>Red coral the flame necked oriole--<br>But never the stir of a soul<br>Heard I in ye--<br>Great is the mystery!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>From its ferny coasts,<br>The river gazed at our strong, free ghosts,<br>And with rocky fingers shed<br>Apart the silver curls of its head;<br>Laid its murmuring hands,<br>On the reedy bands;<br>And at gaze<br>Stood in the half-moon's of brown, still bays;<br>Like gloss'd eyes of stags<br>Its round pools gaz'd from the rusty flags,<br>At our ghostly crests<br>At the bark-shields strong on our phantom breasts;<br>And its tide<br>Took lip and tongue and cried.<br>'I have push'd apart<br>The mountain's heart;<br>I have trod the valley down;<br>With strong hands curled,<br>Have caught and hurled,<br>To the earth the high hill's crown!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My brow I thrust,<br>Through sultry dust,<br>That the lean wolf howl'd upon;<br>I drove my tides,<br>Between the sides,<br>Of the bellowing canon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From chrystal shoulders,<br>I hurled my boulders,<br>On the bridge's iron span.<br>When I rear'd my head<br>From its old time bed,<br>Shook the pale cities of man!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have run a course<br>With the swift, wild horse;<br>I have thunder'd pace for pace,<br>With the rushing herds--<br>I have caught the beards<br>Of the swift stars in the race!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Neither moon nor sun<br>Could me out-run;<br>Deep cag'd in my silver bars,<br>I hurried with me,<br>To the shouting sea,<br>Their light and the light of the stars!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The reeling earth<br>In furious mirth<br>With sledges of ice I smote.<br>I whirled my sword<br>Where the pale berg roar'd,<br>I took the ship by the throat!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With stagnant breath<br>I called chill Death<br>My guest to the hot bayou.<br>I built men's graves,<br>With strong thew'd waves<br>That thing that my strength might do.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I did right well--<br>Men cried 'From Hell<br>The might of Thy hand is given!'<br>By loose rocks stoned<br>The stout quays groaned,<br>Sleek sands by my spear were riven.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O'er shining slides,<br>On my gloss'd tides,<br>The brown cribs close woven roll'd;<br>The stout logs sprung,<br>Their height among<br>My loud whirls of white and gold!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The great raft prest,<br>My calm, broad breast--<br>A dream thro' my shady trance,<br>The light canoe--<br>A spirit flew--<br>The pulse of my blue expanse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wing'd swift the ships.<br>My foaming lips<br>Made rich with dewy kisses,<br>All night and morn,<br>Field's red with corn,<br>And where the mill-wheel hisses.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And shivers and sobs,<br>With lab'ring throbs,<br>With its whirls my strong palms play'd.<br>I parted my flags,<br>For thirsty stags,<br>On the necks of arches laid.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To the dry-vined town<br>My tide roll'd down--<br>Dry lips and throats a-quiver,<br>Rent sky and sod<br>With shouts 'From God<br>The strength of the mighty river!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I, list'ning, heard<br>The soft-song'd bird;<br>The beetle about thy boles.<br>The calling breeze,<br>In thy crests, O Trees--<br>Never the voices of souls!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We, freed souls, of the Trees look'd down<br>On the river's shining eyes of brown;<br>And upward smiled<br>At the tender air and its warrior child,<br>The iron eagle strong and wild.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'No will of ours,<br>The captive souls of our barky tow'rs;<br>'His the deed<br>Who laid in the secret earth the seed;<br>And with strong hand<br>Knitted each woody fetter and band.<br>Never, ye<br>Ask of the tree,<br>The 'Wherefore' or 'Why' the tall trees stand,<br>Built in their places on the land<br>Their souls unknit;<br>With any wisdom or any wit,<br>The subtle 'Why,'<br>Ask ye not of earth or sky--<br>But one command it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Isabella+Valancy+Crawford">Isabella Valancy Crawford</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=413329" data-title="The Ghosts Of The Trees de Isabella Valancy Crawford" data-description="The silver fangs of the mighty axe,
Bit to the blood of our giant boles;
It smote our breasts and smote our backs,
Thunder'd the front-cleared leaves--
As sped in fire,
The whirl and flame of scarlet leaves
With strong desire
Leaped to the air our..."></div>
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