THE HEMLOCK.
I think the hemlock likes to stand Upon a marge of snow;It suits his own austerity, And satisfies an awe That men must slake in wilderness, Or in the desert cloy, --An instinct for the hoar, the bald, Lapland's necessity.
The hemlock's nature thrives on cold;
The gnash of northern winds Is sweetest nutriment to him, His best Norwegian wines.
To satin races he is nought;
But children on the Don Beneath his tabernacles play, And Dnieper wrestlers run.
