56 Tall Bearded Iris 



Frowning down on the forest wide, 



Darkly loometh his giant form, 



Alone he stands in his kingly pride, 



And mocks at whirlwind and laughs at storm. 



"Speak, O sage of the mystic air! 

 Answer, seer of the mighty mien! 

 Must all thy trees of the forest fair 

 Fall at the feet of the Linden green?" 



"Wouldst thou the scroll of the future see? 

 Thus I divine the fate of all! 

 A worm is sapping the Linden-tree, 

 The pride that goeth before a fall. 



"For shame may come to the haughty crest, 

 A storm may sweep from the northern sea, 

 And winds from the east and winds from the west 

 May blow in wrath o'er the Linden-tree! 



"Here, where the voice of the winter grieves, 

 The Lily hath lain its regal head; 

 Bright was the gleam of the golden leaves, 

 But the Lily was flecked with spots of red. 



"Behind the clouds of the battle strife 

 The glow of resurrection see! 

 Lo! I proclaim a newer life, 

 The truer birth of the Fleur-de-lis!" 



Thus saith the seer of the mighty mein, 

 Thus saith the sage of the mystic air, 

 The sunshine fell from the Linden green 

 And gilded the grave of the Lily fair. 



Dr. Fred Crosby: The Lily and the Linden 



