 | Snow-berries. A book for young folks |  |
65
LESS OR MORE.
Seven trees grew beside our door,—
We used to wish they were six, or four!
Seven,—each standing so close to each,
The boughs from one to the other could reach,
And when the wild winds over them run
The tops of the seven trees looked like one.
We used to wish they were six, or four!
Seven,—each standing so close to each,
The boughs from one to the other could reach,
And when the wild winds over them run
The tops of the seven trees looked like one.
There they stood in the rain and shine,
Like so many soldiers, all of a line,
Beating the tempest away when it came;
And still when the midsummer burned like a flame,
Dropping their shadows, now less, now more,
Over the door-stone and into the door.
Like so many soldiers, all of a line,
Beating the tempest away when it came;
And still when the midsummer burned like a flame,
Dropping their shadows, now less, now more,
Over the door-stone and into the door.
Seven, and one of the seven, an oak,
Scarred and scathed by a lightning-stroke,
That, leaving it at the fork gaped wide,
Ran like a black vein down one side;
An elm, with a shaggy red vine at the top,
Hanging loose, and as though it were ready to drop.
Scarred and scathed by a lightning-stroke,
That, leaving it at the fork gaped wide,
Ran like a black vein down one side;
An elm, with a shaggy red vine at the top,
Hanging loose, and as though it were ready to drop.
66
Three sweet silver maples, a willow so fair
That like a lithe swimmer took hold of the air;
A walnut, too proud to yield ever a nut,
With all its black bark into rough diamonds cut.
And so there were seven—we wished they were four,
Or six—we would have them be less or be more!
That like a lithe swimmer took hold of the air;
A walnut, too proud to yield ever a nut,
With all its black bark into rough diamonds cut.
And so there were seven—we wished they were four,
Or six—we would have them be less or be more!
Fair every tree of them—why should we say
If this one or that one were only away!
O, 'tis no matter,—the story is meant
To show you that mortals are never content,
And if the trees had been six, or four,
We still would have wished they were less, or more.
If this one or that one were only away!
O, 'tis no matter,—the story is meant
To show you that mortals are never content,
And if the trees had been six, or four,
We still would have wished they were less, or more.
| Snow-berries. A book for young folks | |