ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 



243 



For hand of Jotun, where mid snow and mist 

 He holds unwieldy revel. 



*****= 



The friend of all the winds, wide-armed he towers 

 And glints his steely aglets in the sun. 



* * * * and I 



Will hold it true that in this willow dwells 

 The open-handed spirit, frank and blithe, 

 Of ancient Hospitality, long since 

 With ceremonious thrift bowed out of doors. 



In June 't is good to lie beneath a tree 

 While the blithe season comforts even- sense, 

 Steeps all the brain in rest, and heals the heart 

 Brimming it o'er with sweetness unawares, 

 Fragrant and silent as that rosy snow 

 Wherewith the pitying apple-tree fills up 

 And tenderly lines some last-year robin's nest. 

 ****** 



Each year to ancient friendships adds a ring, 

 As to an oak, and precious more and more, 

 Without deservingness or help of ours, 

 They grow, and, silent, wider spread, each year, 

 Their unbought ring of shelter or of shade. 

 Sacred to me the lichens on the bark, 

 While Nature's milliners would scrape away; 

 Most dear and sacred every withered limb ! 

 'T 's good to set them early, for our faith 

 Pines as we age, and, after wrinkles come, 

 Few plant, but water dead ones with vain tears. 



This willow is as old to me as life ; 



And under it full often have I stretched, 



Feeling the warm earth like a thing alive, 



And gathering virtue in at every pore 



Till it possessed me wholly, and thought ceased, 



Or was transfused in something to which thought 



Is coarse and dull of sense. Myself was lost, 



Gone from me like an ache, and what remained 



Became a part of the universal joy. 



My soul went forth, and, mingling with the tree, 



Danced in the leaves; or floating in the cloud, 



Saw its white double in the stream below. , 



****** 



LOWELL. 



