Poems Chiefly From Manuscript
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Old favourite tree, thou'st seen time's changes lower, Though change till now did never injure thee;For time beheld thee as her sacred dowerAnd nature claimed thee her domestic tree. Storms came and shook thee many a weary hour, Yet stedfast to thy home thy roots have been;Summers of thirst parched round thy homely bowerTill earth grew iron--still thy leaves were green. The children sought thee in thy summer shadeAnd made their playhouse rings of stick and stone;The mavis sang and felt himself ...aloneWhile in thy leaves his early nest was made. And I did feel his happiness mine own, Nought heeding that our friendship was betrayed, Friend not inanimate--though stocks and stonesThere are, and many formed of flesh and bones. Thou owned a language by which hearts are stirredDeeper than by a feeling clothed in word, And speakest now what's known of every tongue, Language of pity and the force of wrong. What cant assumes, what hypocrites will dare, Speaks home to truth and shows it what they are.
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You can find similar books in the "Read Also" column, or choose other free books by Clare John to read onlineMoreLess
To quickly assess the difficulty of the text, read a short excerpt:
Old favourite tree, thou'st seen time's changes lower, Though change till now did never injure thee;For time beheld thee as her sacred dowerAnd nature claimed thee her domestic tree. Storms came and shook thee many a weary hour, Yet stedfast to thy home thy roots have been;Summers of thirst parched round thy homely bowerTill earth grew iron--still thy leaves were green. The children sought thee in thy summer shadeAnd made their playhouse rings of stick and stone;The mavis sang and felt himself ...aloneWhile in thy leaves his early nest was made. And I did feel his happiness mine own, Nought heeding that our friendship was betrayed, Friend not inanimate--though stocks and stonesThere are, and many formed of flesh and bones. Thou owned a language by which hearts are stirredDeeper than by a feeling clothed in word, And speakest now what's known of every tongue, Language of pity and the force of wrong. What cant assumes, what hypocrites will dare, Speaks home to truth and shows it what they are.
What to read after Poems Chiefly From Manuscript?
You can find similar books in the "Read Also" column, or choose other free books by Clare John to read onlineMoreLess
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