in the labor, on and off during most of the winter, 

 in sawing and cutting. 



It furnished many sturdy blocks as pedestals 

 for large flower tubs and for other purposes; 

 heavy frames for rustic benches; cross-sections 

 polished I made up into tables and stools, and the 

 house was supplied with firelogs through the cold 

 weather, the cutting and splitting of which 

 warmed one thoroughly on the bleakest day. 



It was sad to see the poor tree, still strong and 

 sound to all appearance, losing his limbs, another 

 smaller one having also dropped off some months 

 later. 



I can, however, imagine his saying, like The 

 Fallen Elm, in Veronica's Garden: 



Nay, pity me not, I am living still, 

 Though prone on the plowed-up earth. 



They will carry me in from the well-walled garth. 



Where the logs are split and stored, 

 And lay me down where the blazing hearth 



Glints warm on the beakered board. 



I shall roar my stave through the chimney's throat, 



Oh, I am not dead, though my head droops low, 

 That used in the Spring to soar 

 90 



