 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
182
The Withered Tree
It stands 'mid other trees dry-barked,
Its limbs with moss are overgrown;
And many a gash its trunk has marked,
Men sought for fruit but found there none.
Its limbs with moss are overgrown;
And many a gash its trunk has marked,
Men sought for fruit but found there none.
I saw them pass, a hungry crowd,
With quickening steps and eager gaze;
Then heard their wailings long and loud,
Where should have rose the voice of praise.
With quickening steps and eager gaze;
Then heard their wailings long and loud,
Where should have rose the voice of praise.
It stood for many years; the rain
Fell on it, yet no leaf
Came forth when stirs the sprouting grain,
Nor summer's sun could bring relief.
Fell on it, yet no leaf
Came forth when stirs the sprouting grain,
Nor summer's sun could bring relief.
The roots, whence free the sap ascends,
Had ceased to drink their rich supply;
Nor sun nor shower the tree befriends,
That does not on the earth rely.
Had ceased to drink their rich supply;
Nor sun nor shower the tree befriends,
That does not on the earth rely.
I heard the axe, when winter chills,
Thick, sturdy blows, in haste it fell,
And soon no more the place it fills,
Nor smallest root the spot would tell.
Thick, sturdy blows, in haste it fell,
And soon no more the place it fills,
Nor smallest root the spot would tell.
Poem No. 308; summer 1839
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