(For The Seventieth Birthday Of James Russell Lowell)

'There needs no crown to mark the forest's king.' Thus, long ago thou sang'st the sound-heart tree Sacred to sovereign Jove, and dear to thee Since first, a venturous youth with eyes of spring,-- Whose pilgrim-staff each side put forth a wing,-- Beneath the oak thou lingeredst lovingly To crave, as largess of his majesty, Firm-rooted strength, and grace of leaves that sing.

He gave; we thank him! Graciousness as grave, And power as easeful as his own he gave; Long broodings rich with sun, and laughters kind; And singing leaves, whose later bronze is dear As the first amber of the budding year,-- Whose voices answer the autumnnal wind.