Among the evergreens I grow
All summer long—they do not know—
I look so much as if I were
An honest upright kind of fir.
I even think they envy me,
My fronds show such a filigree
Of needlework, all interlaced—
They do not know I’m double-faced.
I am as straight as any lance
And so I win their confidence;
I know their inmost secret things,
I hear their softest murmurings,
I listen and maintain my mien—
They think I am an evergreen!
But when the summer goes,
October knows! October knows!
For then my needles turn to gold,
I stand a traitor to the fold,
I am the turncoat of the pack—
The yellow-flaming tamarack!
I hoist my shining staff,
I give them all the laugh,
Until my golden needles drop
And sober up. I’ve had my fling—
Next spring
When I am seen
Again, I’ll be an evergreen!