80
THE TALKING OAK.
lxiv.
The warmth it thence shall win
To riper life may magnetise
The baby-oak within.
lxv.
Or lapse from hand to hand,
Thy leaf shall never fail, nor yet
Thine acorn in the land.
lxvi.
Nor wielded axe disjoint,
That art the fairest-spoken tree
From here to Lizard-point.
lxvii.
All throats that gurgle sweet!
All starry culmination drop
Balm-dews to bathe thy feet!