Poem by Augusta Webster

The Pine

The elm lets fall its leaves before the frost,
The very oak grows shivering 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.

1. Young May Sat Fainting and Chill
2. She Has Made Me Wayside Posies
3. Hark the Sky-Lark in the Cloud
4. 'Tis Hard
5. Choosing

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