Gnarled oak and holly! stone-cropped like the stone!
Are ye of it, or is it part of you?
Your union strange is marvellously true,
And makes the granite which I stand upon
Seem like the vision of an empire gone,
Gone, yet still present, though it never was
Save as a shadow,--let the shadow pa**!
So perish human glories, every one!
But, rocks! ye are not shadows; trees! ye cast
The Almighty's shadow over the homeward bee,
His name on Brimham! yea, the coming blast
Beneath his curtains reads it here with me,
And pauses not to number marvels past
But speeds the thunder on over land and sea.