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Robert Laurence Binyon - The Oak
Work rating: Low

Splendours of sunset burned upon the ground,
 As from the lane`s deep shade
 Emerging, a warm grassy plat we found
 Skirting the forest glade,
 And in the midst a solitary oak.
 No sound the bright and haunting stillness broke
 As we beheld the wonder of this tree,
 His shadowy core invaded thick by rays
 That kindled the rough trunk, and ardently
 Made burn the massy branches, thrusting higher
 And wider their strong foliage, knotted sprays
 Of tawny and bronze leaves defined in fire.

 Silence possessed us pausing, and our eyes
 Stayed wondering to behold
 In that illumined solitude arise
 Those fiery branches old.
 It seemed a mighty apparition brought
 From far to trouble us; planted beyond thought
 And budding calm into a time not ours.
 Then, then smote full upon our inmost heart
 Its mortal weakness: without bound and vast
 Our longing, but our scope brief as the flowers,
 That in a season perish and are past.
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