The Home Book of Verse Volume Iii Part 24

An' down below's the cloty brook Where I did vish with line an' hook, An' beat, in playsome dips and zwims, The foamy stream, wi' white-skinned lim's.

An' there my mother nimbly shot Her knitten-needles, as she zot At evenen down below the wide Woak's head, wi' father at her zide.

An' I've a-played wi' many a bwoy, That's now a man an' gone awoy; Zoo I do like noo tree so well 'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell.

An' there, in leater years, I roved Wi' thik poor maid I fondly loved,-- The maid too feair to die so soon,-- When evenen twilight, or the moon, Cast light enough 'ithin the pleace To show the smiles upon her feace, Wi' eyes so clear's the gla.s.sy pool, An' lips an' cheaks so soft as wool.

There han' in han', wi' bosoms warm, Wi' love that burned but thought noo harm, Below the wide-boughed tree we pa.s.sed The happy hours that went too vast; An' though she'll never be my wife, She's still my leaden star o' life.

She's gone: an' she've a-left to me Her mem'ry in the girt woak tree; Zoo I do love noo tree so well 'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell.

An' oh! mid never ax nor hook Be brought to spweil his steately look; Nor ever roun' his ribby zides Mid cattle rub ther heairy hides; Nor pigs rout up his turf, but keep His lwonesome sheade vor harmless sheep; An' let en grow, an' let en spread, An' let en live when I be dead.

But oh! if men should come an' vell The girt woak tree that's in the dell, An' build his planks 'ithin the zide O' zome girt s.h.i.+p to plough the tide, Then, life or death! I'd goo to sea, A sailen wi' the girt woak tree: An' I upon his planks would stand, An' die a-fighten vor the land,-- The land so dear,--the land so free,-- The land that bore the girt woak tree; Vor I do love noo tree so well 'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell.

William Barnes [1801-1886]

TO THE WILLOW-TREE

Thou art to all lost love the best, The only true plant found, Wherewith young men and maids distressed, And left of love, are crowned.

When once the lover's rose is dead, Or laid aside forlorn: Then willow-garlands 'bout the head Bedewed with tears are worn.

When with neglect, the lovers' bane, Poor maids rewarded be For their love lost, their only gain Is but a wreath from thee.

And underneath thy cooling shade, When weary of the light, The love-spent youth and love-sick maid Come to weep out the night.

Robert Herrick [1591-1674]

ENCHANTMENT

The deep seclusion of this forest path,-- O'er which the green boughs weave a canopy; Along which bluet and anemone Spread dim a carpet; where the Twilight hath Her cool abode; and, sweet as aftermath, Wood-fragrance roams,--has so enchanted me, That yonder blossoming bramble seems to be A Sylvan resting, rosy from her bath: Has so enspelled me with tradition's dreams, That every foam-white stream that, twinkling, flows, And every bird that flutters wings of tan, Or warbles hidden, to my fancy seems A Naiad dancing to a Faun who blows Wild woodland music on the pipes of Pan.

Madison Cawein [1865-1914]

TREES

I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at G.o.d all day And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me, But only G.o.d can make a tree.

Joyce Kilmer [1886-1918]

THE HOLLY-TREE

O reader! hast thou ever stood to see The Holly-tree?

The eye that contemplates it well perceives Its glossy leaves Ordered by an Intelligence so wise As might confound the Atheist's sophistries.

Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen, Wrinkled and keen; No grazing cattle, through their p.r.i.c.kly round, Can reach to wound; But, as they grow where nothing is to fear, Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear.

I love to view these things with curious eyes, And moralize; And in this wisdom of the Holly-tree Can emblem see Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant rhyme,-- One which may profit in the after-time.

Thus, though abroad, perchance, I might appear Harsh and austere; To those who on my leisure would intrude, Reserved and rude; Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be, Like the high leaves upon the Holly-tree.

And should my youth--as youth is apt, I know,-- Some harshness show, All vain asperities I, day by day, Would wear away, Till the smooth temper of my age should be Like the high leaves upon the Holly-tree.

And as, when all the summer trees are seen So bright and green, The Holly-leaves their fadeless hues display Less bright than they; But when the bare and wintry woods we see, What then so cheerful as the Holly-tree?--

So, serious should my youth appear among The thoughtless throng; So would I seem, amid the young and gay, More grave than they; That in my age as cheerful I might be As the green winter of the Holly-tree.

Robert Southey [1774-1843]

THE PINE

The elm lets fall its leaves before the frost, The very oak grows s.h.i.+vering and sere, The trees are barren when the summer's lost: But one tree keeps its goodness all the year.

Green pine, unchanging as the days go by, Thou art thyself beneath whatever sky: My shelter from all winds, my own strong pine, 'Tis spring, 'tis summer, still, while thou art mine.

Augusta Webster [1837-1894]

"WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE"

Woodman, spare that tree!

Touch not a single bough!

In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now.

'Twas my forefather's hand That placed it near his cot; There, woodman, let it stand, Thy axe shall harm it not!

That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renown Are spread o'er land and sea,-- And wouldst thou hew it down?