The Oak

Some sway for long then decline There are those, a very few Whose rings are golden, hard and just Like a solid oak all through Each year builds on another truth A suffering, increased in gold You cannot see, viewing the edifice Whether it is young or old Some have it in them to keep close To nature, her mysterious part Seeming strange to be so natural Nature married to perfected part Flesh will ponder its dark blame Mind will never mate the true But the whole being will rejoice Like a solid oak all through