More than a million seed Most of which must fail And go for squirrel feed. Some had got themselves hurled On the equinoctial gale Far out into the world. Some when the wind was still Had fallen plummet direct (But may have bounced down hill). In a hollow some lay in a heap Not knowing what to expect Two or three acorns deep. Already at one extreme By autumn dampness' aid Some were showing a toothlike gleam What might have been a fuse To some small devil grenade Fat-loaded ready to use. All that mast must perish Unless I should intervene And pick one up to cherish. I might plant one in a yard To alter a village scene And be of long regard. But whether with faithfully shut Or intelligently open eyes I wished I could choose a nut That would be most appreciative And would feel the most surprise At being allowed to live. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TOMMY'S DEAD by SYDNEY THOMPSON DOBELL ON THE RUINS OF A COUNTRY INN by PHILIP FRENEAU THE HOCK-CART, OR HARVEST HOME by ROBERT HERRICK ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER by JOHN MILTON PORTRAIT OF A LADY by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS TO THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON ON HEARING HIM MISPRAISED by MATTHEW ARNOLD BRUCE: HOW AYMER DE VALENCE, AND JOHN OF LORN CHASED THE BRUCE ... by JOHN BARBOUR |