A wind sways the pines, <br />And below <br />Not a breath of wild air; <br />Still as the mosses that glow <br />On the flooring and over the lines <br />Of the roots here and there. <br />The pine-tree drops its dead; <br />They are quiet, as under the sea. <br />Overhead, overhead <br />Rushes life in a race, <br />As the clouds the clouds chase; <br />And we go, <br />And we drop like the fruits of the tree, <br />Even we, <br />Even so.<br /><br />George Meredith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dirge-in-woods/
