I WAS the acorn that fell From the autumn bough In the warm earth to dwell; I grew to a branch somehow And I waved in the nightly storm And sheltered the kine When the hills were yellow and warm With the noon divine I too 'mid the sheathing moss Felt the axe's blow And fell with a thunderous loss Of the stars I know And the clouds that sift no more Through my shattered limbs, Save where the hearthstones roar And the dying ember dims. |