Threnody.
R
Robert Crawford
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Dark Pine that moanest long,
Sad, solitary tree!
As if the world's wrong
A tongue had found in thee,
Sad as when Ariel
Cursed by the witch's spell
Endured his pitiable
Period of misery.
When will time's Prospero
Come with his cure for thee?
The world in weary woe
Wails for its liberty.
Till it shall look above
Unto the heavenly Love
Nothing the world may move,
Sin-shut in Sorrow's tree!
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