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.