The Druids waved their golden knives <br />And danced around the Oak <br />WHen they had sacrificed a man; <br />But though the learned search and scan <br />No single modern person can <br />Entirely see the joke. <br />But though they cut the throats of men <br />They cut not down the tree, <br />And from the blood the saplings spring <br />Of oak-woods yet to be. <br />But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood, <br />He rots the tree as ivy would, <br />He clings and crawls as ivy would <br />About the sacred tree. <br /> <br />King Charles he fled from Worcester fight <br />And hid him in the Oak; <br />In convent schools no man of tact <br />Would trace and praise his every act, <br />Or argue that he was in fact <br />A strict and sainted bloke. <br />But not by him the sacred woods <br />Have lost their fancies free, <br />And though he was extremely big <br />He did not break the tree. <br />But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood, <br />He breaks the tree as ivy would, <br />And eats the woods as ivy would <br />Between us and the sea. <br /> <br />Great Collingwood walked down the glade <br />And flung the acorns free, <br />That oaks might still be in the grove <br />As oaken as the beams above, <br />When the great Lover sailors love <br />Was kissed by Death at aea. <br />But though for him the oak-trees fell <br />To build the oaken ships, <br />The woodman worshipped what he smote <br />And honoured even the chips. <br />But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood, <br />He hates the tree as ivy would, <br />As the dragon of the ivy would <br />That has us in his grips.<br /><br />Gilbert Keith Chesterton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-song-of-the-oak-2/
