Mr


The Yew Tree -

The melancholy yew tree dug it's roots
Within the sparse and arid ground,
And in the summer bore it's poison fruits
To the chorus of song and of sound
That echoed from the lyre bird,
And to legions of roses and flowers
That swayed without a word
In the season's indifferent powers;
Alone amid the cobblestones
Alone amid the pious tones,
In the dull churchyard.

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