THE 



NATURE-STUDY REVIEW 



Vol. 12 



November, 1916 



No. 8 



Beech 



By L. H. Bailey 



Granite-stocked bole in 

 the forewoods 

 Staid in the storms 

 alarms 

 Floor of brown leaves in 

 the coppice 

 Stretch of the outward 

 arms 

 Calm in the moods of 

 November 

 Bright in the sun-short 

 day 

 Publican tree of the 

 forest 

 Smooth-barked quiet 

 and gray, — 

 Reach me your burrs of 

 deep Autumn 

 Nut-kernels three- 

 cornered and brown 

 That slip one and one / 

 from your couplets 

 Tap tap on the under 

 leaves down, 

 Reach me outreach me 

 your dead leaves of 

 September 

 Blossoms of spring- 

 time and burgeons 

 of June 

 And rustle the months 

 that hang on your 

 branches 

 That shed from your 

 branches their win- 

 ter-old rune. 



Beech tree ! The year is 

 at its ember 

 The flush days disap- 

 pear, 

 Yet all the weeks that I 

 remember 

 Of every budding dy- 

 ing year 

 From November till 

 November 

 Ye have girt the green- 

 wood here. 



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