Old Wood to Burn
Old woodto burn! – hew down the highest trunk
On Alleghanian ridges, seen afar –
A monarch crowned with his imperal star –
Against the crimson where the sun has sunk.
The sharp axe glittering in his kingly heart
Sends echo ringing through the golden woods, -
And then a crashing fall! – like bursting floods
When roar the surges, and great mountains part!
The dim year wanes; I see an in-door sight, -
Bright faces gathered round a blazing fire
At Yule or Pentecost when, rising higher,
The frolic-mirth draws gladness from the light
Of that old oak that towering once so vast
Laughed at the storm, and whistled at the blast!
Old woodto burn! – hew down the highest trunk
On Alleghanian ridges, seen afar –
A monarch crowned with his imperal star –
Against the crimson where the sun has sunk.
The sharp axe glittering in his kingly heart
Sends echo ringing through the golden woods, -
And then a crashing fall! – like bursting floods
When roar the surges, and great mountains part!
The dim year wanes; I see an in-door sight, -
Bright faces gathered round a blazing fire
At Yule or Pentecost when, rising higher,
The frolic-mirth draws gladness from the light
Of that old oak that towering once so vast
Laughed at the storm, and whistled at the blast!