
The El Sylph. 
H. W. Parker. 
A BEAUTIFUL Elm, with a maidenly form, 
That smiles in the sunlight and swings in the storm, 
Has shaded my window for many a year, 
And grown, like a sister, more lovely and dear. 
It whispers me dreams in the soft Summer days, 
It sprinkles my table with gold-floating rays ; 
It sings me its music through all the hushed night, 
And shows me a glimpse of the stars’ stealthy light ; 
It curtains the glare of the wakening dawn, 
And woos back the dusk on the shadowy lawn. 
Oh, long have I loved thee, my Elm, gentle Elm! 
Thou standest as proud as the queen of a realm, 
And winningly wavest thy soft leafy arms, 
Like a beautiful maid who is conscious of charms. 
Oh, oft have I leaned on thy rough-rinded breast, 
And thought of it oft as an iron-like vest— 
No breast-plate of steel, but a corslet of bark 
That hid the white limbs of my Joan of Arc! 

