In The Oak

THE leaves and tassels of the oak

Were golden-green with May,

Pavilion whence forever broke

Some angel roundelay.

A carol like a glory came

From topmost twig astir,

Enkindled by a flying flame,

The scarlet tanager.

The tree was glad as Paradise

When, eager soul on soul,

The saints flock home. There glistened twice

A wild-throat oriole;

And once the grosbeak's rosy breast

Poured its enchanted hymn;

While sunny wing and jewel crest

Lit many a blissful limb.

The whole wide world was in my oak

Whose catkins danced for mirth,

— Plumes gray as curling city smoke,

Plumes brown as fresh-plowed earth;

Even heaven had graced our festival,

For oft the loving eye

Would find, coaxed by a wistful call,

The bluebird's fleck of sky.