A Hollow Elm

What hast thou not withstood,         Tempest-despising tree,      Whose bloat and riven wood         Gapes now so hollowly,     What rains have beaten thee through many years,     What snows from off thy branches dripped like tears?      Calmly thou standest now         Upon thy sunny mound;      The first spring breezes flow         Past with sweet dizzy sound;     Yet on thy pollard top the branches few     Stand stiffly out, disdain to murmur too.      The children at thy foot         Open new-lighted eyes,      Where, on gnarled bark and root,         The soft warm sunshine lies -     Dost thou, upon thine ancient sides, resent     The touch of youth, quick and impermanent?      These at the beck of spring         Live in the moment still:      Thy boughs unquivering,         Remembering winter's chill,     And many other winters past and gone,     Are mocked, not cheated, by the transient sun.      Hast thou so much withstood,         Tempest-despising tree,      That now thy hollow wood         Stiffens disdainfully     Against the soft spring airs and soft spring rain,     Knowing too well that winter comes again?