Like two cathedral towers these stately pines 



Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones; 

 The arch beneath them is not built with stones, 



Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines, 



And carved this graceful arabesque of vines; 

 No organ but the wind here sighs and moans, 

 No sepulchre conceals a martyr's bones, 



No marble bishop on his tomb reclines. 

 Enter ! the pavement, carpeted with leaves, 

 Gives back a softened echo to thy tread ! 



Listen ! the choir is singing; all the birds, 



In leafy galleries beneath the eaves, 



Are singing ! listen, ere the sound be fled, 



And learn there may be worship without words. 

 LONGFELLOW: My Cathedral. 



