POEMS. THE TALKING OAK. I. ONCE more the gate behind me falls; II. Beyond the lodge the city lies, Beneath its drift of smoke; And ah! with what delighted eyes III. For when my passion first began, IV. To yonder oak within the field V. For oft I talked with him apart, And told him of my choice, Until he plagiarized a heart, And answered with a voice. VI. Though what he whispered under Heaven None else could understand; I found him garrulously given, VII. But since I heard him make reply 'T were well to question him, and try If yet he keeps the power. VIII. Hail, hidden to the knees in fern, Broad oak of Sumner-chace, Whose topmost branches can discern The roofs of Sumner-place! IX. Say thou, whereon I carved her name, If ever maid or spouse, As fair as my Olivia, came To rest beneath thy boughs? X. "O Walter, I have sheltered here Whatever maiden grace The good old Summers, year by year, XI. "Old Summers, when the monk was fat, And, issuing shorn and sleek, Would twist his girdle tight, and pat XII. "Ere yet, in scorn of Peter's-pence, XIII. "And I have seen some score of those Fresh faces, that would thrive When his man-minded offset rose To chase the deer at five; XIV. "And all that from the town would stroll, Till that wild wind made work, In which the gloomy brewer's soul XV. "The slight she-slips of loyal blood, For puritanic stays: XVI. "And I have shadowed many a group Of beauties, that were born XVII. "And, leg and arm with love-knots gay, About me leaped and laughed The modish Cupid of the day, And shrilled his tinsel shaft. XVIII. "I swear (and else may insects prick Each leaf into a gall) This girl, for whom your heart is sick, |