Select poems of Alfred lord Tennyson . kiss it thrice; The warmth it thence shall winTo riper hfe may magnetize The baby-oak within. 92 THE TALKING OAK. But thou, while kingdoms overset Or lapse from hand to hand,Thy leaf shall never fail, nor yet Thine acorn in the land. 260 May never saw dismember thee, Nor wielded axe disjoint;That art the fairest-spoken tree From here to Lizard-point. O rock upon thy towery top All throats that gurgle sweet!All starry culmination drop Balm-dews to bathe thy feet! All grass of silky feather grow — And while he sinks or swells 270 The full south-breeze aroun
Select poems of Alfred lord Tennyson . kiss it thrice; The warmth it thence shall winTo riper hfe may magnetize The baby-oak within. 92 THE TALKING OAK. But thou, while kingdoms overset Or lapse from hand to hand,Thy leaf shall never fail, nor yet Thine acorn in the land. 260 May never saw dismember thee, Nor wielded axe disjoint;That art the fairest-spoken tree From here to Lizard-point. O rock upon thy towery top All throats that gurgle sweet!All starry culmination drop Balm-dews to bathe thy feet! All grass of silky feather grow — And while he sinks or swells 270 The full south-breeze around thee blow The 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 thunders bring the mellow rain. That makes thee broad and deep ! 2S0 And hear me swear a solemn oath, That only by thy sideWill I to Olive plight my troth. And gain her for my bride. THE TALKING OAK. 93. And when my marriage morn may fall,She, Dryad-like, shall wear Alternate leaf and acorn-ballIn wreath about her hair. And I will work in prose and rhyme,And praise thee more in both Than bard has honord beech or lime,Or that Thessalian growth. 94 UL YSSES. In which the swarthy ringdove sat,And mystic sentence spoke ; And more than England honors that,Thy famous brother-oak, Wherein the younger Charles abodeTill all the paths were dim, And far below the Roundhead rode,And hummd a surly hymn.
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