On argent peak, an arbor sways
And cloaks the mountain with its verd.
It hides its home from daylight's rays.
Behind its boughs, no sound is heard.
A private sky neath leafy dome
Lurks always on the edge of night,
And stars like secrets freely roam
Mid lofty branch in gracious flight.
The trunk in silent glory stands
As colours run along its height
In vivid shades and vaguer strands
That play upon a plane of white.
Upon the bole are symbols borne
That ward the glade from sun's purview.
Beneath the bark, dim marks adorn
A surface of a darker hue.
A tale of other lands they show
In shapes not carved by mortal will.
They move about with silent skill
And tell of all the world below.