. The poetic and dramatic works of Alfred lord Tennyson. e a golden butterfly ; 220 A third would glimmer on her neckTo make the necklace shine ; Another slid, a sunny fleck,From head to ankle fine. Then close and dark my arms Ispread, And shadowd all her rest —Dropt dews upon her golden head, An acorn in her breast. But in a pet she started up, And pluckd it out, and drew 230My little oakling from the cup, And flung him in the dew. And yet it was a graceful gift — I felt a pang withinAs when I see the woodman lift His axe to slay my kin. I shook him down because he was The finest on the tree.
. The poetic and dramatic works of Alfred lord Tennyson. e a golden butterfly ; 220 A third would glimmer on her neckTo make the necklace shine ; Another slid, a sunny fleck,From head to ankle fine. Then close and dark my arms Ispread, And shadowd all her rest —Dropt dews upon her golden head, An acorn in her breast. But in a pet she started up, And pluckd it out, and drew 230My little oakling from the cup, And flung him in the dew. And yet it was a graceful gift — I felt a pang withinAs when I see the woodman lift His axe to slay my kin. I shook him down because he was The finest on the lies beside thee on the grass. O, kiss him once for me ! 240 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. Step deeper yet in herb and fern,Look further thro the chace, Spread upward till thy boughs dis-cernThe front of Sumner-place. This fruit of thine by Love is blest,That but a moment lay 250 Where fairer fruit of Love may restSome happy future day. THE TALKING OAK IJ3. She, Dryad-like, shall wearAlternate leaf and acorn-ball I kiss it twice, I kiss it thrice,The warmth it thence shall win To riper life may magnetizeThe baby-oak within. But thou, while kingdoms overset,Or lapse from hand to hand, Thy leaf shall never fail, nor yetThine acorn in the land. 260 May never saw dismember thee,Nor wielded axe disjoint, That art the fairest-spoken treeFrom here to Lizard-point. O, rock upon thy towery topAll throats that gurgle sweet ! All starry culmination dropBalm-dews to bathe thy feet! All grass of silky feather grow —And while he sinks or swells 270 The full south-breeze around thee blowThe sound of minster bells ! The fat earth feed thy branchy root,That under deeply strikes ! The northern morning oer thee shoot,High up, in silver spikes ! Nor ever lightning char thy grain, But, rolling as in sleep,Low thunders bring the mellow rain, That makes thee broad and deep! 280 And hear me swear a sole
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