I
sat beneath an agéd tree
Of autumn brown. Intent to muse,
And quite forget my human self;
With shadows fuse.
Of autumn brown. Intent to muse,
And quite forget my human self;
With shadows fuse.
Amidst
the roots in sylvan weave,
Above my head a voice was blown;
A wind-born sigh of mournful leaves
And wooden groan.
Above my head a voice was blown;
A wind-born sigh of mournful leaves
And wooden groan.
The
tree itself, with whispered sound
Of forest deep in secret, said:
"With mobile limbs, why sit beneath
Of forest deep in secret, said:
"With mobile limbs, why sit beneath
The
living dead?"
"Despite
the gusts and desperate growth
I cannot move; my roots go deep.
Cruel gods have made my waking life
Eternal sleep."
I cannot move; my roots go deep.
Cruel gods have made my waking life
Eternal sleep."
"But
you, with limbs of movement
free,
Could visit further fields than these;
And yet you sit beneath a tree
To hear the breeze?"
Could visit further fields than these;
And yet you sit beneath a tree
To hear the breeze?"
For
hours I listened, 'till my words
Like
vengeful light, cut through the gloam.
“I
sit here, that my mind is free
To
further roam.”
“A
thinking soul's imagination
Invents
more beauties than the earth
Could
hold. And finds, in unseen worlds,
Emancipation!”
Emancipation!”
“Deny
what atom deems as truth!
And
in the fields of Fancy's breath
Take
root. To wake from life and die
A dreamer's death!”
A dreamer's death!”
The
ancient tree gave no reply.
His
voice was taken by the wind.
Too far away to give retort.
Too far away to give retort.
For
dreamers' minds can distant fly
On wings of thought.
On wings of thought.
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