  HOARSELY to the midnight moon Voiced the oak his rugged rune: “Harken, sibyl Moon, to me; Hear the saga of the Tree. “Thou, O queen of splendor, must Pale and crumble back to dust; Through slow eons diest thou,— Doomsday craves my vitals now. “I am scion of a line Old, imperial, divine; Earth produced my ancestor Ere great Odin was, or Thor. “From the hursts of holy oak Fateful gods of Asgard spoke; In the consecrated shade Bard and Druid sang and prayed. “Fostered in an oaken womb Slept Trifingus, sword of doom; Therewith woaded Caratak Drave the steel-sarked Roman back. “Where, profaned by legioned foes, In the shuddering forest rose Mona’s altars flaming rud, Britain drowned her woe in blood. “Then the dread decree of Norn Sounded in the groves forlorn; Vikings swooping from the North Harried every scaur and forth. “Forests fell with crash and roar, Masted galiots spurned the shore, Dragon-breasted,—swum the meer, Daring danger, scouting fear. “Hengist’s brood and Horsa’s kin, Seed of Garmund, sons of Finn, Dane and Saxon sail and sweep Battling o’er the wrathful deep; “Hearts of oak! their valor gave Right of might to rule the wave, Gave to Nelson’s ocean war Copenhagen, Trafalgar! “Bray of trumpet! roll of drum! When shall Balder’s kingdom come? Bitter sap shall when grow sweet In the acorn at my feet? “Centuries do I stand here Thinking thoughts profound and drear, Dreaming solemn dreams sublime Of the mysteries of Time. “Roots of mine do feed on graves; I have eaten bones of braves; In the ground the learnÉd gnomes Read to me their cryptic tomes. “Annals treasured in the air All the past to me declare; Every wind of heaven brings Tribute for me on its wings. “Through my silence proud and lone Whispers waft from the Unknown: Musing eld hath second ken— Moon! the dead shall live again. “Sun-scorch have I borne, and pangs From the gnaw of winter’s fangs; Fought tornadoes, nor forsook Roothold when the mountains shook. “Oft the zig-zag thunder hath Struck me with his fiery scath,— To my core the havoc sped, Yet I never bowed my head. “I am weary of the years; Overthrown are all my peers, Slain by steel or storm or flame,— I would perish too—the same. “Yet shall I a little space Linger still in life’s embrace Ere metempsychosing time Drag me down to Niflheim. “Wherefore shun or summon fate? Wisest they who sanely wait; In my fiber nature saith, Life is good and good is death. “Mated birds of procreant Spring In my branches build and sing; Grass is green and flowers bloom Where I spread my golden gloom; “Happy children round me play; Plighted lovers near me stray; Insects chirping in the night Thrill me with obscure delight; “Circling seasons as they run, Couriers of the lavish sun, Dower me with treasure lent By each potent element; “Ministers to me the whole ZonÉd globe from pole to pole; In my buds and blossoms beat Pulses from the central heat; “Everything is part of me, Firmament and moving sea; I of all that is am part, Stone and star and human heart. “Primal Cause etern, self-wrought, Majesty transcending thought, This my substance and my soul, Origin, desire, and goal. “Through creation’s vasty range Blows the winter blast of change; Leaf-like from the Life-Tree whirled World shall rot on ruined world. “Hail, inexorable hour Fraught with clysmian wrack and stour Welcome, transmutation’s course And the cosmic rage of Force. “Yond the atomed universe Now we gather, now disperse,— Unto darkling chaos tost, Back from the chaos—nothing lost. “Forth abysmal voids of death Resurrection issueth:— Flaming ether, quickened clod, Bodying new forms of God. “Harken, Moon!—When I am gone, I, re-born, shall burgeon on; Out thine ashes shall arise Other Thou, to ride the skies.” Spake no more the hoary oak; No response |
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