That Had Been Converted Into A May-pole In The Town Of Llanidloes, In Montgomeryshire
Ah! birch tree, with the verdant locks,
And reckless mind--long hast thou been
A wand'rer from thy native rocks;
With canopy of tissue green,
And stem that 'mid the sylvan scene
A sceptre of the forest stood--
Thou art a traitress to the wood!
How oft, in May's short nights of old,
To my love-messenger and me
Thou didst a couch of leaves unfold!
Thou wert a house of m
Proud music soared from every bough;
Ah! those who loved thee sorrow now!
Thy living branches teemed and rang
With every song the woodlands know,
And every woodland flow'ret sprang
To life--thy spreading tent below.
Proud guardian of the public way,
Such wert thou, while thou didst obey
The counsel of my beauteous bride--
And in thy native grove reside!
But now thy stem is mute and dark,
No more by lady's reverence cheered;
Rent from its trunk, torn from its park,
The luckless tree again is reared--
(Small sign of honour or of grace!)
To mark the parish market-place!
Long as St. Idloes' town shall be
A patroness of poesy--
Long as its hospitality
The bard shall freely entertain,
My birch! thy lofty stature shall remain!