Poems, Epigrams and Sonnets | ||
84
SO MUCH FOR SENTIMENT.
It is gone, the old oak, which, for centuries past,With branches wide-spreading had weather'd the blast,
A tree of primeval type!
Accurs'd be the axe which was laid to its root!
“Sir, it fetch'd,” said the factor, “five shillings a foot,
And the tree was maturely ripe.”
Poems, Epigrams and Sonnets | ||