The Oak & The Reeds

Giant Oak, in his strength & his scorn
Of the winds, by the roots was uptorn:
But slim Reeds at his side,
The fierce gale did outride,
Since, by bending the burden was borne.

Bend, Not Break

Walter Crane

Walter Crane was an English artist and book illustrator, considered to be one of the most prolific and influential children's book creators of his generation. Born on August 15, 1845, and passing away on March 14, 1915, he was part of the Arts and Crafts movement and is known for his innovative contributions to children's literature. His work often combined art and poetry, aiming to educate and delight young readers.

Walter Crane

Hercules & The Waggoner

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

The Lazy Housemaids

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

Oranges & Lemons

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

The Old English Garden - A Floral Phantasy

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

English

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The Oak And The Reed.

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The oak one day address'd the reed: -
'To you ungenerous indeed
Has nature been, my humble friend,
With weakness aye obliged to bend.
The smallest bird that flits in air
Is quite too much for you to bear;
The slightest wind that wreathes the lake
Your ever-trembling head doth shake.
The while, my towering form
Dares with the mountain top
The solar blaze to stop,
And wrestle with the storm.
What seems to you the blast of death,
To me is but a zephyr's breath.
Beneath my branches had you grown,
That spread far round their friendly bower,
Less suffering would your life have known,
Defended from the tempest's power.
Unhappily you oftenest show
In open air your slender form,
Along the marshes wet and low,
That frin...

Jean de La Fontaine

Oak-Leaves

    Crinkled oak-leaves, twinkling in the sun,
        Splashed by midday showers, dripping cold -
    Serrate oak-leaves, silvered by the sun
        That has brushed yon dull brown grass with gold.

    Green and crinkled oak leaves, tremble now -
        Strong you would be, strong would be and bold,
    Ah! green oak-leaves, you are trembling now -
        By the saucy wind deceived - cajoled!

    Trembling oak leaves - you are soon to fall,
        Soon to hide the earth with yellowing mould
    Twinkling, crinkling oak-leaves, soon you'll fall
        For the autumn sun is shining cold.

Helen Leah Reed

The Fir & The Bramble

The Fir-tree looked down on the Bramble.
"Poor thing, only able to scramble
About on the ground."
Just then an axe' sound
Made the Fir wish himself but a Bramble.

Pride Of Place Has Its Disadvantages

Walter Crane

The Pine Tree.

The wind last night was wild and strong,
It shriek'd, it whistl'd and it roar'd,
And went with whirl and swoop along,
'Mid falling trees and crashing board.

The timbers creak'd, the rafters sway'd,
And e'en some roofs, upheav'd and torn,
Came crashing to the earth, and laid
Before the view, upon the morn.

The air seem'd like some monstrous thing,
By its uncurbed passion held;
Like dreadful dragon on the wing,
So horribly it scream'd and yell'd.

Now venting a triumphant shout,
And ever and anon a groan,
Like fiend from prison lately out,
Or like unhappy chain'd one's moan.

There was a lofty pine I knew;
Each morn and eve I passed it by;
To such a lofty height it grew,
It caught at once each passing eye.

It stood...

Thomas Frederick Young

Tree, Old Tree Of The Triple Crook

Carmen Patibulare - To H. S.



Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Crook
And the rope of the Black Election,
'Tis the faith of the Fool that a race you rule
Can never achieve perfection:
So 'It's O, for the time of the new Sublime
And the better than human way,
When the Rat (poor beast) shall come to his own
And the Wolf shall have his day!'

For Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Beam
And the power of provocation,
You have cockered the Brute with your dreadful fruit
Till your fruit is mere stupration:
And 'It's how should we rise to be pure and wise,
And how can we choose but fall,
So long as the Hangman makes us dread,
And the Noose floats free for all?'

So Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Coign
And the trick there's no recalling,
Th...

William Ernest Henley

The Great Oak Tree

There grew a little flower
'Neath a great oak tree:
When the tempest 'gan to lower
Little heeded she:
No need had she to cower,
For she dreaded not its power -
She was happy in the bower
Of her great oak tree!
Sing hey,
Lackaday!
Let the tears fall free
For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!

When she found that he was fickle,
Was that great oak tree,
She was in a pretty pickle,
As she well might be -
But his gallantries were mickle,
For Death followed with his sickle,
And her tears began to trickle
For her great oak tree!
Sing hey,
Lackaday!
Let the tears fall free
For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!

Said she, "He loved me never,
Did that great oak tree,
But I'm neithe...

William Schwenck Gilbert