The Death of Richard's Tree

Why comest thou to me, young questioner,
Why comest thou with sorrow-stricken look?
Of what dread omen in old nature's book
Enquirest thou the meaning from the seer?

From out yon sapless tree thy mother earth
Speaks to thee, Child, and with no voice of mirth.
Life grows around thee and upon thee, deep
And broad and mighty; and the time hath come
When childhood pure can be no more a home,
A covert where the soul may hide and sleep.
Yet still — now dry thy tears — this comfort take:
Thou shalt keep childhood's heart with manhood's soul;
There shall be pauses from life's stern control
When thou shalt hear the old mirth of the lake.