Old Oak

Like an old oak I go down My boughs Bend And together towards earth descend. Age Brought me Here Age Brought me to this My voice That once was loud and Clear Filled the buildings Country streets Where it went Now As the dimmest light Drawls syllables. Trees Have seed in them And I Had seed unutilized And now That I regret Those days My seed is sere; My seed be old. Like as to as Old house Like as to a rusting Bell Like to a flower in Its prime That bends and fades Like a fair maid That maddened all With beauty Now An old grey woman-pilgrim Walking-stick. Like an old oak I go down My boughs Bend And together towards earth descend.