Richard's Tree
WATERPARK, CONISTON .
By what strange lure are thy free spirits bound,
With thy bare feet and wonder-smitten face,
Close to this mountain ash, as if to trace
Thine infant foot-prints in the grass around?
Ah! little Boy, since thine unsteady pace
Wore round its guiding stem a yellow ring,
Hot sun and dewy moon have clothed the place
Anew with their alternate visiting.
Even through eight thin years there is a past,
Which speaketh to thee in thy childish spirit,
And thy fresh soul hath mighty shadows cast
From the dark store our nature doth inherit.
Long may this tree, unpruned for thy dear sake,
Wave to the merry splashing of the lake!
By what strange lure are thy free spirits bound,
With thy bare feet and wonder-smitten face,
Close to this mountain ash, as if to trace
Thine infant foot-prints in the grass around?
Ah! little Boy, since thine unsteady pace
Wore round its guiding stem a yellow ring,
Hot sun and dewy moon have clothed the place
Anew with their alternate visiting.
Even through eight thin years there is a past,
Which speaketh to thee in thy childish spirit,
And thy fresh soul hath mighty shadows cast
From the dark store our nature doth inherit.
Long may this tree, unpruned for thy dear sake,
Wave to the merry splashing of the lake!
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