My Cathedral

Like two cathedral towers these stately pines
&nbsp Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones;
&nbsp The arch beneath them is not built with stones,
&nbsp Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines,
And carved this graceful arabesque of vines;
&nbsp No organ but the wind here sighs and moans,
&nbsp No sepulchre conceals a martyr's bones.
&nbsp No marble bishop on his tomb reclines.
Enter! the pavement, carpeted with leaves,
&nbsp Gives back a softened echo to thy tread!
&nbsp Listen! the choir is singing; all the birds,
In leafy galleries beneath the eaves,
&nbsp Are singing! listen, ere the sound be fled,
&nbsp And learn there may be worship with out words.