There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, <br />Which to this day stands single, in the midst <br />Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore: <br />Not loathe to furnish weapons for the Bands <br />Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched <br />To Scotland's heaths; or those that crossed the sea <br />And drew their sounding bows at Azincour, <br />Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers. <br />Of vast circumference and gloom profound <br />This solitary Tree! -a living thing <br />Produced too slowly ever to decay; <br />Of form and aspect too magnificent <br />To be destroyed. But worthier still of note <br />Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale, <br />Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; <br />Huge trunks! -and each particular trunk a growth <br />Of intertwisted fibres serpentine <br />Up-coiling, and inveteratley convolved, - <br />Nor uninformed with Fantasy, and looks <br />That threaten the profane; -a pillared shade, <br />Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, <br />By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged <br />Perennially -beneath whose sable roof <br />Of boughs, as if for festal purpose decked <br />With unrejoicing berries -ghostly Shapes <br />May meet at noontide: Fear and trembling Hope, <br />Silence and Foresight, Death the Skeleton <br />And Time the Shadow; there to celebrate, <br />As in a natural temple scattered o'er <br />With altars undisturbed of mossy stone, <br />United worship; or in mute repose <br />To lie, and listen to the mountain flood <br />Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves.<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/yew-trees/
