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The Pine

The elm lets fall its leaves before the frost,
The very oak grows shivering and sere,
The trees are barren when the summer's lost:
But one tree keeps its goodness all the year.

Green pine, unchanging as the days go by,
Thou art thyself beneath whatever sky:
My shelter from all winds, my own strong pine,
'Tis spring, 'tis summer, still, while thou art mine.

Augusta Davies Webster

Read poems about / on: summer, spring, tree, green, lost, sky, wind

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12/3/2008 2:34:50 PM. You Are Here: The Pine by Augusta Davies Webster