THE STAKE
Naseboro' held him guilty,
Crowther took his part,
Who lies at the cross-roads,
A stake through his heart.
Spring calls, and the stake answers
Throwing out shoots;
The towns debate what life is this
Sprung from such roots.
Naseboro' says "A Upas Tree";
"A Rose," says Crowther;
But April's here to declare it
Neither one nor other.
Neither ill nor very fair,
Rose nor Upas,
But an honest oak-tree,
As its parent was.
A green-tufted oak-tree
On the green wold,
Careless as the dead heart
That the roots enfold.