The hills are white with lovely light,
And everywhere the stars burn bright
In splendor gleaming on the wood,
Where once, in loyal familyhood,
The evergreens together stood,
But--now no vespers, sweet or low,
In happy measures upward flow,
For there--by Heaven's lights, O see
The absence of the greenwood tree!
Whose noble form once waiving wide,
This melancholy waste did hide.