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