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Dante Gabriel Rossetti - Sonnet LXXXIX: The Trees of the Garden
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Ye who have passed Death`s haggard hills; and ye
Whom trees that knew your sires shall cease to know
And still stand silent:—is it all a show,—
A wisp that laughs upon the wall?—decree
Of some inexorable supremacy
Which ever, as man strains his blind surmise
From depth to ominous depth, looks past his eyes,
Sphinx-faced with unabashèd augury?
Nay, rather question the Earth`s self. Invoke
The storm-felled forest-trees moss-grown to-day
Whose roots are hillocks where the children play;
Or ask the silver sapling `neath what yoke
Those stars, his spray-crown`s clustering gems, shall wage
Their journey still when his boughs shrink with age.
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