All round us here, in myriad number strown,
The monstrous trunks, great chips and splinters lie,
Of great-armed trees that once besought the sky,
Changed to bright jewels of enduring stone.
What eons on slow-pacing wings have flown
Since first their verdure caught the sun's fond eye,
And since transfiguring nature bade them die,
To rise resplendent in this desert lone.
What glorious death was theirs, if death it be:--
To live in newer loveliness, and light
The solitude with love-enkindling ray;
The toad's and lizard's beauty they may see,
With many a bloom's, behold the eagle's flight,
And on all hearts the hand of wonder lay.