Like two cathedral towers these stately pines
       &nbsp Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones;
       &nbsp The arch beneath them is not built with stones,
       &nbsp Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines,
And carved this graceful arabesque of vines;
       &nbsp No organ but the wind here sighs and moans,
       &nbsp No sepulchre conceals a martyr's bones.
       &nbsp No marble bishop on his tomb reclines.
Enter! the pavement, carpeted with leaves,
       &nbsp Gives back a softened echo to thy tread!
       &nbsp Listen! the choir is singing; all the birds,
In leafy galleries beneath the eaves,
       &nbsp Are singing! listen, ere the sound be fled,
       &nbsp And learn there may be worship with out words.