The Druid

Godlike beneath his grave divinities, The last of all their worshippers, he stood. The shadows of a vanished multitude Enwound him, and their voices in the breeze Made murmur, while the meditative trees Reared of their strong fraternal branches rude A temple meet for prayer. What blossoms strewed The path between Life’s morning hours and these? What lay beyond the darkness? He alone The sunshine and the shadow and the dew Had shared alike with leaf, and flower, and stem: Their life had been his lesson; and from them A dream of immortality he drew, As in their fate foreshadowing his own.