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LIX.

"And yet it was a graceful gift —
I felt a pang within

As when I see the woodman lift
His axe to slay my kin.

LX.

"I shook him down because he was

The finest on the tree.

He lies beside thee on the grass.

O kiss him once for me!

LXI.

"O kiss him twice and thrice for me,

That have no lips to kiss,

For never yet was oak on lea

Shall grow so fair as this."

LXII.

Step deeper yet in herb and fern,

Look further through the chace, Spread upward till thy boughs discern The front of Sumner-place.

LXIII.

This fruit of thine by Love is blest,

That but a moment lay

Where fairer fruit of Love may rest Some happy future day.

LXIV.

I kiss it twice, I kiss it thrice,

The warmth it thence shall win

To riper life may magnetize

The baby-oak within.

LXV.

But thou, while kingdoms overset, Or lapse from hand to hand, Thy leaf shall never fail, nor yet Thine acorn in the land.

LXVI.

May never saw dismember thee,
Nor wielded axe disjoint;
Thou art the fairest spoken tree

From here to Lizard point.

LXVII.

O rock upon thy towery top
All throats that gurgle sweet!
All starry culmination drop

Balm-dews to bathe thy feet!

LXVIII.

All grass of silky feather grow

And while he sinks or swells The full south-breeze around thee blow The sound of minster bells.

LXIX.

The fat earth feed thy branchy root,

That under deeply strikes!

The northern morning o'er thee shoot,

High up, in silver spikes!

LXX.

Nor ever lightning char thy grain,

But, rolling as in sleep,

Low thunders bring the mellow rain,

That makes thee broad and deep!

LXXI.

And hear me swear a solemn oath,

That only by thy side

Will I to Olive plight my troth,

And gain her for my bride.

LXXII.

And when my marriage-morn may fall, She, Dryad-like, shall wear Alternate leaf and acorn-ball

In wreath about her hair.

LXXIII.

And I will work in prose and rhyme,
And praise thee more in both
Than bard has honored beech or lime,
Or that Thessalian growth

LXXIV.

In which the swarthy ringdove sat,
And mystic sentence spoke ;

And more than England honors that,
Thy famous brother-oak,

LXXV.

Wherein the younger Charles abode Till all the paths were dim,

And far below the Roundhead rode, And hummed a surly hymn.

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