Classic Poem

At Hirsau, 'mid the ruins
An elm-tree may be seen;
High up above the gable
Peers out its summit green.

Girt by a cloister's ruins
It deeply strikes its roots;
A roof high-vaulted forming,
Right up to heaven it shoots.

Because the ruin's closeness
Denied it air and sun,
It mounted high and higher,
Till light and air it won.

'Twould seem the cloister-ruins
Were destined there to rise
To shield the growing elm-tree
While climbing tow'rd the skies.

When down that verdant valley
I took my lonely way,
Oft to that lofty elm-tree
My changeful thoughts would stray.

When 'mid the silent ruins
I sat in listening mood,
Above, the rustling breezes
Its towering branches wooed.

Full oft I marked it gleaming
In morning's earliest ray,
And still beheld it shining,
When darkness round it lay.

In Wittemburg's old cloisters
A Tree yet fairer grew,
That with its giant branches
The cloister-roof brake through!

O ray of light! thou piercest
To every cave of night;
O soul of man! thou forcest
Thy way to air and light!