The Yew Tree

Take this small slip of sombre yew And lay it on thy breast; There, underneath thy downcast eyes, Let the sad emblem rest-- Thy tears may fall upon it.

I pulled it from a little tree That just begins to grow-- Once only has it seen the sun And only once the snow-- Thy tears may rain upon it.

The garden where it grew is sad Before all other places, Death’s shadow up and down its walks Forever darkly paces-- Thy tears have fallen in it.

These yew trees stand, a pallid ring Upon the sunlit lawn-- He planted them the very year That we were left to mourn-- Our tears fell freely for it.

They stood like mourners round a grave Who look within, to see Where lie the ashes, while the fire Spires upward, clear and free.