Volume Iii Part 24 (2/2)

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?

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