Classic Poem

Brought from afar but with no studied choice,
And roughly carted, as thou camest to hand,
By the rude peasant,—how we all rejoice
To see thee grown so beautiful and grand!
In thy old site thou mightst have still been poor
And meagre—or, at best, the summer breeze
Had set thee floating on the lonely moor,
No human hearts to teach, no eyes to please:
Kind Heaven foreknew the boon we all received;
For us, the moral of thy drooping boughs—
And, for thyself, how different is thy lot!
From the bare heath, skirted by distant ploughs,
To all this dear home-honour thou has got;
Thou good man's model, lowly though full-leaved!