Page:Poems Hoffman.djvu/359

So the years passed by and the old oak stood
In its conscious pride the same,
Nor strove for a higher, nobler good,
Content with its vaunted fame;
 While the little vine so far below,
 Ne'er lost for a moment its wish to grow.

Upward, onward, it steadily crept,
"Till the rough bark was draped with green,
And then while the haughty monarch slept,
It clambered the boughs between,
 And gained one morning in ecstasy
 The topmost bough of the old oak tree.

Brightly the light on its glossy leaves glanced,
And a bird perched on its stem,
While the merry sunbeams around it danced,
In a glistening diadem,
 And at night the moon with a smile benign
 Shone down on the little helpless vine.

Years passed and one of the Autumn eves
Some travelers passed that way,
Beheld of yellow and crimson leaves,
A wondrously gorgeous array;
 They paused and cried in their rapt delight:
 "The vine has hidden the oak from sight!"

And the tree awoke from its high conceit,
To find himself at last,
By the little clinging vine at his feet,
So wondrously surpassed,
 And cried, in his deep regret, "To me
 Was the loftiest station given,
 But while I boasted nobility,
 The vine was nearest Heaven."

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