With gelid sap and frozen gum
In maple trees and hackmatack,
While waiting for the spring to come
Of life's necessities we lack;
And sip the nectar that we find
In luscious fruit with golden rind.
But down the street we dread to walk,
For all the teachings of our youth
Receive an agonizing shock;
Do tempting labels lie, forsooth?
For "out of Florida," she says,
"Come our Bermuda oranges."
To speed the penitential prayer
Our rosary we finger o'er,
A yellow necklace rich and rare—
'Twas purchased at the dollar store;
But oh, it makes us sigh to see
That land of amber bijouterie!
Oh, ocean wave and flying sail
Shall never waft us to its shore!
But if some reckless cyclone gale
Should drop Bermuda at our door,
'Twould warm our February sky
And bring the time of roses nigh!
The Charter Oak.
I seem to see the old tree stand,
Its sturdy, giant form
A spectacle remembered, and
A pilgrim-shrine for all the land
Before it met the storm.
Unnumbered gales the tree defied;
It towered like a king
Above his courtiers, reaching wide,
And sheltering scions at its side
As with protecting wing.
Revered as one among the trees
To mark the seasons born,
To watchful aborigines
It told by leafy indices
The time of planting corn.