Normale Version: To a Cypress-Tree
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To a Cypress-Tree

O melancholy Tree! thou who dost stand
Like a sad mourner in his sable shroud
Fast by the grave of her he loved, too proud
In his deep muffled woe, to have it scanned,

Whilst on each side of that dear space of land
(Too sacred for the common weeping crowd,)
The attendant woods, remote, on either hand,
Rave and lament in murmurs low or loud:

Wilt thou, O russet Tree! lend me thy shade
Each noontide, when the sun inflames the sky
And glares with hideous splendour from on high
Taking the sweet green sadness from the glade?

Wilt thou keep full with tears the floweret's eye
That weeps alone where I am lonely laid?