I AM old and wise and strong, Hale, and still inclined to song; And the morning I salute Loud upon my oaten flute; Then, ardent o'er my ranked pipes bending, Match the sky-lark's song ascending; With pursed lips hovering o'er each reed, From deep to treble on I speed, And surprise him in the blue With earth-born echo clear and true. And sometimes, when the rustling breeze Draws hints of music from the trees, I nurse and fondle their beginning, Chord to mate with chord still winning, Rearing the infant tune to express All a dryad's happiness. Next bend mine eyes to worship flowers; This tip-toe on a slim stalk towers, Pride at one with innocence Like a child in a new wimple; This other, under leafage dense, Sure of being searched for, simple Yet counting upon beauty's power, Content to wait its triumph's hour. How the gracious ferns expand Like a sleeping infant's hand! And their growth acquires greatness As a boy-king's soul sedateness. For them, belike, the trees are gods, Whom they wonder of and trust, And augur from their drowsy nods Till the autumn, when they rust; Their glades then gorgeous to behold, Complain they that their age grows cold? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELIOT'S OAK; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW MY LOST YOUTH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW A HYMN WRITTEN IN WINDSOR FOREST by ALEXANDER POPE ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 11. TO THE COUNTRY GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND by MARK AKENSIDE A TOMB BY THE SEA by AULUS LICINIUS ARCHIAS TARQUIN AND THE AUGUR by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |