 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
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THE PRIDE OF THE FOREST.
Old oak, that wear'st the glory of thy yearsAbout thee, like a garment: thou art young
At heart, though in thy boughs the birds have sung
For many an age: and joy has been, and tears,
And changes on the earth, and hopes and fears,
Since thou wert planted; many a spring hath hung
Its green robes on thee, ages hast thou flung
A kingly shadow o'er thy forest peers!
Old Patriarch of many days, the wind
Amid thy branches takes a solemn tone,
Well suited to its powers and thine own:
Giving thee influence above thy kind,
And voice oracular, so to make known
Ordainëd things to whom it is assigned!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |