Classic Poem

Oh , — there never was yet so pretty a thing,
By racing river or bubbling spring,
Nothing that ever so merrily grew
Up from the ground when the skies were blue,
Nothing so fresh — nothing so free
As thou — my wild wild Cherry-tree!

Jove! how it danced in the gusty breeze!
Jove! how it frolicked amongst the trees!
Dashing the pride of the poplar down,
Stripping the thorn of his hoary crown!
Oak or ash — what matter to thee!
'Twas the same to my wild wild Cherry-tree.

Never at rest, like a thing that's young
Abroad to the winds its arms it flung,
Shaking its rich and crowned head,
Whilst I stole up for its berries red —
Beautiful berries! beautiful tree!
Hurrah! for the wild wild Cherry-tree!

Back I fly to the days gone by,
And I see thy branches against the sky,
I see on the grass thy blossoms shed,
I see (and I ravish) thy berries red,
And I shout — like the tempest loud and free,
Hurrah! for the wild wild Cherry-tree!