The Larch Grove

Line above line the nursling larches planted,
Still as they clomb with interspace more wide,

Let in and out the sunny beams that slanted.
And shot and crankled down the mountain's side.

The larches grew, and darker grew the shade.
And sweeter aye the fragrance of the Spring ;
Pink pencils all the spiky boughs array
And small green needles call'd the birds to sing.

They grew apace as fast as they could grow.
As fain the tawny fell to deck and cover ;

They haply thought to soothe the pensive woe.
Or hide the joy of stealthy tripping lover.
Ah, larches ! that shall never be your lot ;

Nought shall you have to do with amorous weepers,
Nor shall ye prop the roof of cozy cot,
But rumble out your days as railway sleepers.