Classic Poem

The house of the Garumnus glads the ground
Beneath a gnarlèd, mighty beech where wells
A God's pure sap by which the white bark swells.
The mother forest makes his utmost bound;

For by the seasons blest he there has found
Nuts, wood and shade, and creatures that he fells
With bow and spear, or with sly lures compels,
For flesh to eat or fleece to wrap him round.

The years have crowned his toil and made him free;
And on his home-return at eve the Tree
With kindly arms seems proffering welcome's good;

And when death comes to lower his lofty brow,
His grandsons will cut out his coffin's wood
From the sound heart of its supremest bough.