Under Pine Boughs, by Marcus Fayette Bridgman

So darksome are your boughs, unquiet pine-tree,
Within the mellow moonlight, and so heavy
Your midnight shadow on the summer greensward.

And over me where now I lie and listen,
I hear like whispers from mysterious voices,
The faint, low murmur of the fitful night-wind.

0 pine-tree! so unquiet in the midnight,
And always in your sombre branches sighing,
Like some unhappy spirit earthward straying,

In all the burden of your constant sadness,
One plaint you have—'tis "Nevermore" and "Never,"
Whispers of Yesterday and To-morrow!