Arundel Oaks
by Lupton Allemong Wilkinson
Not even the redolent pines that on some hill
Carpet the earth with silken texture sweet
Can temper the vagaries of the human will
As do these live oaks, gracious and complete,
Monarch of all arboreal empiry,
Crowned with a changeless youth and high serene,
Breathing the essence of grave surety
Over the fragile sword of Time's demesus.
Men, feverish, make religion of turmoil;
Furor and striving do away with thought;
We lose the secret that through centuries wrought
This giant, slow flowering from the friendly soil.
Who knows fulfillment more than steadfast trees
Or happier lot than to be loved by these?
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