Outdistancing the trees beside.
Nor hearkened to their small-leafed tones,
The rustling of close-quartered boughs,
Nor dreamt of murky depths beneath
Whose dark no errant sunbeam ploughs.
An ancient oak, misshapen, knarled,
Whose prideful age man's care had crutched,
Whose groaning branches bent toward earth
Until the barren soil was touched,
Spoke low with mirthless muttering: