Ten O'Clock And Four O'Clock

It stands there     Tall and solitary on the edge     Of the last hill, green on the green hill.     Ten o'clock the tree's called, no one knows why.     Perhaps it was planted there at ten o'clock     Or someone was hanged there at ten o'clock--     A hundred such good reasons might be found,     But no one knows. It vexed me that none knew,     Seeing it miles and miles off and then nearer     And nearer yet until, beneath the hill,     I looked up, up, and saw it nodding there,     A single tree upon the sharp-edged hill,     Holding its leaves though in the orchard all     Leaves and fruit were stripped or hung but few     Red and yellow over the littered grass.     --It vexed me, the brave tree and senseless name,     As I went through the valley looking up     And then looked round on elm and beech and chestnut     And all that lingering flame amid the hedge     That marked the miles and miles.     Then I forgot:     For through the apple-orchard's shadow I saw     Between the dark boughs of the cherry-orchard     A great slow fire which Time had lit to burn     The mortal seasons up, and leave bare black     Unchanging Winter.     Weston-sub-Edge.