THE OAK.
283
Or the lark's nest; and overhead, the dove
Had her lone dwelling, paying for her home
With melancholy songs; and scarce a beech
Was there without a honeysuckle linked
Around, with its red tendrils and pink flowers;
Or girdled by a brier rose, whose buds
Yield fragrant harvest for the honey-bee.
There dwelt the last red deer, those antler'd kings...
But this is as a dream,—the plough has pass'd
Where the stag bounded, and the day has looked
On the green twilight of the forest-trees.
This oak has no companion!....
