The elm lets fall its leaves before the frost,
The very oak grows shivering and sere,
The trees are barren when the summer's lost:
But one tree keeps its goodness all the year.
Green pine, unchanging as the days go by,
Thou art thyself beneath whatever sky:
My shelter from all winds, my own strong pine,
'Tis spring, 'tis summer, still, while thou art mine.
The Pine
Augusta Davies Webster
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Poem topics: green, lost, sky, spring, tree, frost, strong, year, beneath, summer, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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