Louise Imogen Guiney

The Yew-Tree

As I came homeward
At merry Christmas,
By the old church tower,
Through the churchyard grass,

And saw there, circled
With graves all about,
The yew-tree paternal,
The yew-tree devout,

Then this hot life-blood
Was hard to endure,
O Death! so I loved thee,
The sole love sure.

For stars slip in heaven,
They wander, they break:
But under the yew-tree
Not one heartache.

And ours, what failure
Renewed and avowed!
But ah, the long-buried
Is leal, and is proud.

Now I came homeward
At merry Christmas,
By the wise gray tower,
Through the green kind grass.