An Inscription for an Aged Oak

Come hither, stranger ! I would commune with thee!
Art thou but young ? but tender in thy years ?
I was a sapling once, and bent my brow
To every breath of heaven that greeted me !
They pass me now, and scarcely move the leaf
That stronger winds have left.
There was a time
When the soft zephyring spring came joyfully,
Like a young bride, with bloom upon her cheek —
And mine her earliest smile ; but she is fled
To her young loves, and scorns my hoary locks.
Learn, then, that friendship passeth as the wind,
That love will fade : and trust thou not in man !
But art thou stricken with departed years,
And bent beneath their burden ?
Nearer yet
I bid thee come, there's sympathy between us.
The warmth of many summer suns hath beamed
In kindliness upon me — many dews
Have wept their freshening influence on my leaf.
But now the flowers that spring up at my root
Upbraid my shadeless branches ; for the heat
Shines in its parching strength and withers them.
Hast thou a child, old man ? Bid him come here,
And I will tell him what it is to live
An isolated thing without a bond
Spun from affection's web ; without a tie,
Though but of flax, to bind him to the earth.
And he shall cherish thee, old man, and heed
Even the poor counsel of an aged tree !