---

Gilbert Keith Chesterton - The Song of the Oak
Work rating: Low

	The Druids waved their golden knives
	         And danced around the Oak
	         When they had sacrificed a man;
	         But though the learned search and scan
	         No single modern person can
	         Entirely see the joke.
	         But though they cut the throats of men
	         They cut not down the tree,
	         And from the blood the saplings spring
	         Of oak-woods yet to be.
	              But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood,
	              He rots the tree as ivy would,
	              He clings and crawls as ivy would
	              About the sacred tree.

	         King Charles he fled from Worcester fight
	         And hid him in the Oak;
	         In convent schools no man of tact
	         Would trace and praise his every act,
	         Or argue that he was in fact
	         A strict and sainted bloke.
	         But not by him the sacred woods
	         Have lost their fancies free,
	         And though he was extremely big
	         He did not break the tree.
	              But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood,
	              He breaks the tree as ivy would,
	              And eats the woods as ivy would
	              Between us and the sea.

	         Great Collingwood walked down the glade
	         And flung the acorns free,
	         That oaks might still be in the grove
	         As oaken as the beams above,
	         When the great Lover sailors love
	         Was kissed by Death at sea.
	         But though for him the oak-trees fell
	         To build the oaken ships,
	         The woodman worshipped what he smote
	         And honoured even the chips.
	              But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood,
	              He hates the tree as ivy would,
	              As the dragon of the ivy would
	              That has us in his grips.
Source
The script ran 0.008 seconds.