Lament of the Maple Tree
I laid me down one day in June;
It was late-long after noon-
A very sultry summer's eve,
Such times the senses oft deceive.
The place was 'neath a maple tree,
Soon from all cares and troubles free,
By a gentle, kindly slumber,
No more our sorrows we could number.
But we heard a plaintive wail,
Such as we find in fairy tale ;
It was the genius of the tree,
Who, in sad guise, appeared to me.
And then she sadly did give vent
Unto this awful, grave lament,
'Though I am gay in month of June,
All decked in green ; yet very soon,
Alas ! my beauty will be faded,
And my charms be all degraded,
For is my time of glory brief ;
So often flattered is my leaf.
In Canada, so broad and free,
All poets sing of the maple tree.
High I stand, in their opinion,
Emblem of the New Dominion.
The reason I do them upbraid,
Some never slept beneath my shade ;
And yet they take the liberty
To chant about the maple tree.
They dare to poetize my leaf -
is the source of all my grief.
I think their praises all so rude,
And as but base in gratitude ;
So often hackneyed is my name,
That every fall I burn with shame-
Like maiden's cheek which blushes red
When vain rash youth asks her to wed.
Then do these foolish ones descry
In me fresh beauty, and they sigh,
And then renew their songs of praise-
But unto me now sad their lays ;
For then I know my days are brief,
'Tis hectic flush upon my leaf.
True poets, then, should mournful sing,
When the destroyer's on the wing ;
For then I know my leaves of gold
Will all soon mingle with the mould.
No one does ever think to praise
The fell destroyer when he slays ;
No one rejoice in the flushed cheek,
[...] Read more
poem by James McIntyre
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
