In The Oak

THE leaves and tassels of the oak Were golden-green with May, Pavilion whence forever broke Some angel roundelay. A carol like a glory came From topmost twig astir, Enkindled by a flying flame, The scarlet tanager. The tree was glad as Paradise When, eager soul on soul, The saints flock home. There glistened twice A wild-throat oriole; And once the grosbeak's rosy breast Poured its enchanted hymn; While sunny wing and jewel crest Lit many a blissful limb. The whole wide world was in my oak Whose catkins danced for mirth, — Plumes gray as curling city smoke, Plumes brown as fresh-plowed earth; Even heaven had graced our festival, For oft the loving eye Would find, coaxed by a wistful call, The bluebird's fleck of sky.