Life of my life, do you remember how,
At our fair pleasance gate, a stately tree
Kept silent watch and ward? Majestic, free,
Its head reached heaven, while its lowest bough
Swept the green turf, and all between was row
On row of crested waves—a sleeping sea—
Or heaving billows tossed tumultuously,
When the fierce winds that smote the mountain’s brow
Lashed it to sudden passion. It was old.
Storm-rocked for many centuries, it had grown
One with the hills, the river and the sod;
Yet young it was, with largess of red gold
For every autumn, and from stores unknown
Bringing each springtime treasure-trove to God.