DOUBLE POETRY 145 
sweet and low and yet a voice which blows 
across the pine tops to the open waters which 
billow and break in infinite refrain. One more 
poem of God have I been reader of. 
And the day will soon be dark and dark pine 
will be lost in dark night and the night will 
sleep, and the meadow lark will hide his happy 
heart amongst the grasses, but the pine will 
wake and moan and caress the night wind with 
its insufferable anguish of a breaking heart. 
“Soft and low, soft and low,” never slumbering 
and never silent, the pine tree and its heart 
and harp. 
