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I saw in
Louisiana a live-oak growing,
All alone
stood it and the moss hung down from the
branches,
Without any
companion it grew there uttering joyous
leaves
of dark green,
And its
look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,
But I
wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves
standing
alone there without its friend near, for
I knew I could not,
And I broke
off a twig with a certain number of leaves
upon
it, and twined around it a little moss,
And brought
it away, and I have placed it in sight in
my room,
It is not
needed to remind me as of my own dear
friends,
(For I
believe lately I think of little else than of them,)
Yet it
remains to me a curious token, it makes me
think
of manly love;
For all
that, and though the live-oak glistens there in
Louisiana solitary in a wide flat space,
Uttering
joyous leaves all its life without a friend a
lover
near,
I know very
well I could not.
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