The Old Oak
Here have I stood, the pride of the park, In winter with snow on my frozen bark; In spring 'mong the flowers that smiling she spread, And among my own leaves when summer was fled. Three hundred years my top I have rais'd, Three hundred years I have sadly gaz'd O'er Nature's wide extended scene; O'er rushing rivers and meadows green, For though I was always willing to rove, I never could yet my firm foot move. They fell'd my brother, who stood by my side, And flung out his arms so wide, so wide; How envy I him, for how blest is he, As the keel of a vessel he sails so free Around the whole of the monstrous earth; But I am still in the place of my birth. I once was too haughty by far to complain, But am become feeble through age and pain; And therefore I often give vent to my woes, When through my branches the wild wind blows. A night like this, so calm and clear, I have not seen for many a year; The milk-white doe and her tender fawn Are skipping about on the moonlight lawn; And there, on the verge of my time-worn root, Two lovers are seated, and both are mute: Her arm encircles his youthful neck, For none are present their love to check. This night would almost my sad heart cheer, Had I one hope or one single fear.
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