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| OFTEN, when I would sit, a dreamy, straight-haired child, | |
| A book held gaping on my knee, | |
| Watering a sterile romance with my thoughts, | |
| You would come bounding to the curb | |
| And startle me to life. | 5 |
| You sat so straight upon your vibrant horse— | |
| That lovely horse, all silken fire and angry grace— | |
| And yet you seemed so merged in him, | |
| So like! At least my thoughts | |
| Gave you a measure of that wildness. | 10 |
| And oh, for many years you seemed to me | |
| Something to marvel at and yet to fear. | |
| |
| But now I know that you resemble most | |
| That growth in nature that you most revere. | |
| You are so like, so very like, a tree— | 15 |
| Grown straight and strong and beautiful, | |
| With many leaves. | |
| The years but add in richness to your boughs, | |
| You make a noble pattern on the sky. | |
| About your rugged trunk | 20 |
| Vines creep and lichens cling, | |
| And children play at tag. | |
| Upon your branches some will hang their load | |
| And rest and cool while you must brave the sun. | |
| But you put forth new life with every year, | 25 |
| And tower nearer to the clouds | |
| And never bend or grow awry. | |
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| I wonder what sweet water bathes your roots, | |
| And if you gain your substance from the earth; | |
| Or if you have a treaty with the sun, | 30 |
| Or keep some ancient promise with the heavens. | |
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