The Royal Oak
The noblest of trees of old England! I linger to gaze at thy might, And think of the name that men gave thee, And know in my heart they are right!
I see in thy grand noble bearing A triumph of nature indeed; It dawns on me now — what a marvel, To rise from so tiny a seed!
How splendid thou art at this moment All blending with soft mystic light The gold of the glorious sunset With gloom of the oncoming night!
The smoke of industrial city Ne’er masks thy own glorious pride; Just pure rustic breezes of nature Can ripple thy leaves into sighs.
Years have crept on, aye and centuries, Ye counted them all, one by one: Thou’st braved many cold piercing winters And countless times courted the sun.
And still at th’ appointed of seasons Ye robe, as ordained thou should’st do, And bow to the message of autumn Retaining the whole winter through.
If blessed with a tongue, though would’st tell us Thy mighty ancestral line; How Druids of old came to greet thee And claim with their worship thy shrine.
Majestic, ancient oak trees in Windsor Great Park on the Surrey/berkshire border.
Autumn’s arboreal splendour abounds at Kilver Court Gardens in Shepton Mallet, Somerset.