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
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