The elm lets fall its leaves before the frost, <br />The very oak grows shivering and sere, <br />The trees are barren when the summer's lost: <br />But one tree keeps its goodness all the year. <br /> <br />Green pine, unchanging as the days go by, <br />Thou art thyself beneath whatever sky: <br />My shelter from all winds, my own strong pine, <br />'Tis spring, 'tis summer, still, while thou art mine.<br /><br />Augusta Davies Webster<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-pine/
