My Love! there is a mighty beechen tree,
That spreads large arms above a babbling brook,
Where happy children read in love’s fresh book;
It stands in red leaves now up to the knee,
Though late the cold snow kissed it, and was free
To touch its aged head.-Why memory took
This journey wondrous seems, but as I look
With steadfast eyes, thou art revealed to me,
Pale primroses within thine hand, found there,
Thy thoughts scarce known unto thyself perchance,
But I remember when some violets fair
Were plucked by old tree roots, and by a glance
I saw they harmonized with golden hair;-
Thou know’st where they were placed all through the dance.
(John William Inchbold)
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