Rhymes of the Midnight Sun

Such a cool title. Robert Service is a good writer. Or at least to me he is. And seeing as my opinion is the only one that matters in this blog, unless I am supremely bored and suceptable (can't spell) to others opinions, I'll do as I wish. so, this is another poem, but from an accomplished poet, or a published one at least, and its all....um, not that hard to understand.

If my life-force, by death decree,
could find green haven in a tree,
And there in peace untroubled years
Could dream, immune from toil and tears,
Though I'm a lover of all trees
I would not favor one of these...

I would not choose a brittle palm
beside a sea of senile calm;
Or willow droopily adream
Above bright babble of a stream.
No cypress would inhibit me
With dark and dour austerity;
Nor olive, shattering the light,
Nor poplar, purple in the night.
The sanctuary of my search
Would not be oak, nor ash, nor birch;
Ah no! Their comfort I decline, -
Let my life-force pervade a Pine.

Aye, when my soul shall sally forth
Let it be to the naked North,
And in a lone pine desolate
Achieve its fit and final fate;
A pine by arctic tempest torn,
snow-scourged, wind-savaged and forlorn;

A viking trunk, a warrior tree,
A hostage to dark destiny
Of iron earth and icy sky,
That valiantly disdains to die.

There is the home where I would bide,
If trees like men had souls inside, -
Which is, of course, a fantasy
None could concieve but dolts like me...
Let others vision Heaven's gate,
Dark pine, I dream for me you wait.