And I love the shaggy bark on trees. What if 'tis coarse, and tawny-hued, And torn by Winter's tomahawk! A planing knife would make it seem A stilted, artificial thing. And let the fir grow skyward. 'Tis compasslike, and meant to point Its needle to the zenith pole, And not to squat squaw-like, with all The primal instincts chained or killed. To change a towering monarch to A shingle-headed dwarf is monstrous. Nor daub with paint the graining of Its wood. Would Guido vie with God In sketching witch-like tracery Upon the bird's-eye maple or The Douglas fir? And yet methinks I hear one say: "Old Nature's face is plain—his beard Is not the latest cut." I stoop Not for apology, but cry: "To sheer Time's locks, or shave his face Disfigures what you would refine!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA by SAMUEL HAWKINS MARSHALL BYERS HISTORY OF A LIFE by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER THE WHITE SHIP by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI SONNET: 5 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ROLL-CALL by NATHANIEL GRAHAM SHEPHERD EPILOGUE TO LESSING'S LAOCOON by MATTHEW ARNOLD |