Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/244

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the willow's mossy trunk
 * That bends beside the river!

Sprays veil its shoulders rough and shrunk,
 * And o'er the waters quiver.

Arid it looks, and gaunt, and stark,
 * As slant it forward presses,

Time hardens into scales its bark,
 * But crowns its brow with tresses.

Upon its mosses taking root
 * Green herb and blossom ruddy

A picture form, as up they shoot,
 * That painters long might study.

Neglected, frail of frame, deep-scarred,
 * It typifies the poet!

A dream of spring both love to guard,
 * And each is proud to show it.

In childhood's days of joy intense,
 * O willow old and hoary!

How oft thy twigs through hedge and fence
 * I've gathered in their glory.