Classic Poem

The white gum showing
in the gloom
along the massive
trunk of a great
pine-tree standing
on the hill
with a deep bed
of needles below; —

scarcely a breeze
along the hill;
scarcely a current
of moving air
to make the pine's
old melody,
for it is evening;
the air has ceased

its daily stirring;
the light grows dimmer
in the deep shadow
of the pine,
but ever appears
through the darkness
the ghostly glimmering