Its roots lie very low;
You’d better let it be—
Elsewhere ’twill never grow
* * * * *
Vitality, to-day,
Within it there may be,
It perishes when moved away—
So, Frenchman, spare that tree.
Punch. 1848.
Its roots lie very low;
You’d better let it be—
Elsewhere ’twill never grow
* * * * *
Vitality, to-day,
Within it there may be,
It perishes when moved away—
So, Frenchman, spare that tree.
Punch. 1848.