Maybe because it's Easter, an old Longfellow poem came back to me. It's called "My Cathedral" and has always been a favorite of mine. I memorized it many years ago. I'll include it below - and will fix any errors when I get home.
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 the softened echo of 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.
(P.S. Checking the poem, I found I had all the words right but missed some of the punctuation. Not too bad.)
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