Classic Poem

I FOUND a pine that shot its solemn bole
Twice fifty feet against the summer sky
From out a sunless gorge; and sad of soul
It seemed, until I sought to question why;
Whereat the tree moaned darkly—made this strange reply:

“I am troubled betimes, I am sad in my sleep,
Foreboding the day I shall stagger and leap
And tremble through tempests o'er seas that are deep.

“They will fashion me forth for a ship; they will make
My stature and girth but a mock; they will break
My branches and rend me for merchanting's sake.

“Eternal unease shall be portioned to me,
A creature firm rooted and fain so to be,—
Eternal unease on the shifting, loud sea.

“For each to his nature; and mine is to grow
Tall, somber, and steadfast, and gravely a-row
With brothers as grave, while the centuries go.

“I am troubled betimes, I am sorely oppressed,
As I ponder and dream on my mother-earth's breast,
With a fear of the ocean, that knoweth not rest.”