The Moorland Tree in the Garden

Brought from afar but with no studied choice,
And roughly carted, as thou earnest to hand,
By the rude peasant, — how we all rejoice
To see thee grown so beautiful and grand!
In thy old site thou mightst have still been poor
And meagre — or, at best, the summer breeze
Had set thee floating on the lonely moor,
No human hearts to teach, no eyes to please:
Kind Heaven foreknew the boon we all received;
For us, the moral of thy drooping boughs —
And, for thyself, how different is thy. lot!
From the bare heath, skirted by distant ploughs,
To all this dear home-honour thou has got;
Thou good man's model, lowly though full-leaved