©The Yew
Fairy
Here, on the dark and
solemn Yew,
A marvel may be seen,
Where waxen berries, pink and new,
Appear amid the green.
I sit a-dreaming in the tree,
So old and yet so new;
One hundred years, or two, or three
Are little to the Yew.
I think of bygone centuries,
And seem to see anew
The archers face their enemies
With bended bows of Yew.
