In small green cup an acorn grew On tall and stately oak; The spreading leaves the secret knew, And hid it like a cloak. The breezes rocked it tenderly, The sunbeams whispered low, "Some day the smallest acorn here Will make an oak, you know." The little acorn heard it all, And thought it quite a joke; How could he dream an acorn small Would ever be an oak? He laughed so much that presently He tumbled from his cup, And rolled a long way from the tree, Where no one picked him up. Close by him was a rabbit hole, And when the wind blew high, Down went the acorn with a roll For weeks in gloom to lie. But, one bright day, a shoot of green Broke from his body dry, And pushed its way with longing keen To see the glorious sky. It grew, and grew, with all its might, As weeks and months rolled on: The sunbeam's words were proving right. For, ere a year had gone, The shoot became a sturdy plant, While now the country folk Can sit beneath the spreading leaves Of a mighty forest oak. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE LIBERTY FOR ALL by WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: THE FOUR WINDS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND GEORGE ELIOT by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE BIRDS: THE BUILDING OF CLOUDCUCKOOCITY by ARISTOPHANES |