What a happy life was mine, when the sunbeams used to twine. Like golden threads about my summer suit! When my warp and woof of green let enough of light between, Just to dry the dew that linger'd at my root.
What troops of friends I had when my form was richly clad, And I was fair 'mid fairest things of earth: Good company came round, and I heard no rougher sound Than Childhood's laugh, in bold and leaping mirth.
The old man sat him down to note my emerald crown; And rest beneath my branches thick and bright: The squirrel on my spray kept swinging all the day, And the song-birds chatter'd to me through the night.
The dreaming poet laid his soft harp in my shade, And sung my beauty, choruss'd by the bee; The village maiden came, to read her own dear name, Carved on my bark, and bless the broad green tree.
The merry music breathed, while the bounding dancers wreathed In mazy windings round my giant stem; And the joyous words they pour'd, as they trod the chequer'd sward; Told the green tree was a worship'd thing by them.
Oh! what troops of friends I had, to make my strong heart glad; What kind ones answered to my rustling call! I was hail'd with smiling praise, in the glowing summer days; And the beautiful green tree was loved by all.
But the bleak wind hath swept by, and the gray cloud dimm'd the sky; My latest leaf has left my inmost bough; I creak in grating tones, like the skeleton's bleach'd bones; And not a footstep seeks the old tree now.
I stand at morning's dawn, the cheerless and forlorn; The sunset comes and finds me still alone; The mates who shared my bloom, have left me in my gloom; Birds, poet, dancers, children—all are gone.
The hearts that turn'd this way, when I stood in fine array, Forsake me now, as though I ceased to be; I win no painter's gaze, I hear no minstrel's lays; The very nest falls from the leafless tree.
But the kind and merry train will be sure to come again, With love and smiles as ready as of yore; I must only wait to wear my robe so rich and fair, And they will throng as they have throng'd before.
Oh, ye who dwell in pride with parasites beside, Only lose your summer green leaves and ye'll see; That the courtly friends will change into things all cold and strange, And forget ye, as they do the winter tree!
