  O giant oak, majestic, dark, and old, A hundred summers in the woodland vast, From the rich suns that lit thy glories past, In thy huge trunk thou storedst warmth untold; Now, when the drifted snows the hills enfold, And the wild woods are shaken in the blast, O’er this bright hearth thou sendest out at last The long-pent sunshine that thine heart did hold. Like thee, O noble oak-tree, I would store From days of joy all beauty and delight, All radiant warmth that makes life’s summer bright, So that I may, when sunniest hours are o’er, Still from my heart their treasured gleam outpour, To cheer some spirit in its winter night. |
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