And I love the shaggy bark on trees. What if 'tis coarse, and tawny-hued, And torn by Winter's tomahawk! A planing knife would make it seem A stilted, artificial thing. And let the fir grow skyward. 'Tis compasslike, and meant to point Its needle to the zenith pole, And not to squat squaw-like, with all The primal instincts chained or killed. To change a towering monarch to A shingle-headed dwarf is monstrous. Nor daub with paint the graining of Its wood. Would Guido vie with God In sketching witch-like tracery Upon the bird's-eye maple or The Douglas fir? And yet methinks I hear one say: "Old Nature's face is plain—his beard Is not the latest cut." I stoop Not for apology, but cry: "To sheer Time's locks, or shave his face Disfigures what you would refine!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RABBI BEN EZRA by ROBERT BROWNING RELIGIO LAICI; OR, A LAYMAN'S FAITH by JOHN DRYDEN ASPATIA'S SONG, FR. THE MAID'S TRAEGDY by JOHN FLETCHER MORITURI SALUTAMUS [WE WHO ARE TO DIE SALUTE YOU] by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW IN A BYE-CANAL by HERMAN MELVILLE CHAMPAGNE, 1914-1915 by ALAN SEEGER REJECTED ADDRESSES: THE BABY'S DEBUT, BY W. W. by JAMES SMITH (1775-1839) |