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MY CATHEDRAL

 

Like two cathedral towers these stately pines

  Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones;

  The arch beneath them is not built with stones,

  Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines,

And carved this graceful arabesque of vines;

  No organ but the wind here sighs and moans,

  No sepulchre conceals a martyr's bones.

  No marble bishop on his tomb reclines.

Enter! the pavement, carpeted with leaves,

  Gives back a softened echo to thy tread!

  Listen! the choir is singing; all the birds,

In leafy galleries beneath the eaves,

  Are singing! listen, ere the sound be fled,

  And learn there may be worship without words.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow