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Anne Kingsmill Finch - The Tree
Work rating: Medium

	Fair tree! for thy delightful shade
	    `Tis just that some return be made;
	    Sure some return is due from me
	    To thy cool shadows, and to thee.
	    When thou to birds dost shelter give,
	    Thou music dost from them receive;
	    If travellers beneath thee stay
	    Till storms have worn themselves away,
	    That time in praising thee they spend
	  And thy protecting pow`r commend.
	  The shepherd here, from scorching freed,
	  Tunes to thy dancing leaves his reed;
	  Whilst his lov`d nymph, in thanks, bestows
	  Her flow`ry chaplets on thy boughs.
	  Shall I then only silent be,
	  And no return be made by me?
	  No; let this wish upon thee wait,
	  And still to flourish be thy fate.
	  To future ages may`st thou stand
	  Untouch`d by the rash workman`s hand,
	  Till that large stock of sap is spent,
	  Which gives thy summer`s ornament;
	  Till the fierce winds, that vainly strive
	  To shock thy greatness whilst alive,
	  Shall on thy lifeless hour attend,
	  Prevent the axe, and grace thy end;
	  Their scatter`d strength together call
	  And to the clouds proclaim thy fall;
	  Who then their ev`ning dews may spare
	  When thou no longer art their care,
	  But shalt, like ancient heroes, burn,
	  And some bright hearth be made thy urn.
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