Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ELIOT'S OAK; SONNET, by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

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ELIOT'S OAK; SONNET, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Thou ancient oak! Whose myriad leaves are loud
Last Line: And is forgotten, save by thee alone.
Subject(s): Natick, Massachusetts; Oak Trees

THOU ancient oak! whose myriad leaves are loud
With sounds of unintelligible speech,
Sounds as of surges on a shingly beach,
Or multitudinous murmurs of a crowd;
With some mysterious gift of tongues endowed,
Thou speakest a different dialect to each;
To me a language that no man can teach,
Of a lost race, long vanished like a cloud.
For underneath thy shade, in days remote,
Seated like Abraham at eventide
Beneath the oaks of Mamre, the unknown
Apostle of the Indians, Eliot, wrote
His Bible in a language that hath died
And is forgotten, save by thee alone.

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