Lament Of The Maple Tree. A Vision.

"We had a dream which was not all a dream." - Byron.

I laid me down one day in June,

It was late long afternoon,

A very sultry summer's eve,

Such times the senses oft deceive,

The place was 'neath a maple tree,

Soon from all cares and troubles free,

By a gentle, kindly slumber,

No more our sorrows we could number,

But we heard a plaintive wail

Such as we find in fairy tale,

It was the genius of the tree

Who in sad guise appeared to me,

And then she sadly did give vent

Unto this awful grave lament:

Though I am gay in month of June,

All decked in green, yet very soon,

Alas my beauty will be faded

And my charms be all degraded,

For is my time of glory brief,

So often flattered is my leaf.

In Canada so broad and free

All poets sing of the maple tree,

High I stand in their opinion,

Emblem of the New Dominion,

The reason I do them upbraid

Some never slept beneath my shade,

And yet they take the liberty

To chant about the maple tree,

They dare to poetise my leaf,

This is the source of all my grief,

I think their praises all so rude

And as but base ingratitude,

So often hackneyed is my name

That every fall I burn with shame,

Like maiden's cheek which blushes red

When vain rash youth asks her to wed,

Then do these foolish ones descry

In me fresh beauty and they sigh,

And then renew their songs of praise.

But unto me how sad their lays,

For then I know my days are brief,

'Tis hectic flush upon my leaf;

True poets then should mournful sing

When the destroyer's on the wing,

For then I know my leaves of gold

Will all soon mingle with the mould,

No one does ever think to praise

The fell destroyer when he slays,

None rejoice in the flushed cheek

When the poor girl is low and weak,

Perhaps they'll say and it is true

In spring my glories I'll renew,

But 'tis poor comfort after all

To lose my offspring every fall,

Small consolation to mother

To tell her that soon another

Will replace her fond darling boy

Who has been source of all her joy,

But you know all about my wood

You know that it is strong and good,

And I have full many a curl

And pleasing eye and charming nurl,

Some love me as fond nature grained

And some prefer my beauty stained,

But my dear friend I hope that you

My varied shades love pure and true,

For of the woods you know the staple

Stoutest and best is good maple,

The youth my sugar eat with glee,

And old maids love me in their tea,

In me do various uses meet

In summer shade, in winter heat,

For I do make a glorious blaze

All worthy of the poet's lays,

But to their praises I'll be deaf

If more they harp about my leaf.

They call me gay when I am sober

To me 'tis gloomy month October,

But saints on earth when they die

Hope for true bliss beyond the sky,

So winter does bring no alarms

Though it strip bare my trunk and arms,

For now I know that time will bring

More glorious foliage in the spring,

Then all nature will rejoice

Triumphing with glorious voice,

And birds will in my branches sing

Hosannas to the lovely spring.

The nurls and birds' eyes and curls were highly prized in furniture thirty years ago, when we used the smooth plain.