An Oak, with spreading Branches crown'd, <br />Beheld an Ivy on the Ground, <br />Expos'd to ev'ry trampling Beast, <br />That roam'd around the dreary Waste. <br />The Tree of Jove, in all his State, <br />With Pity view'd the Ivy's Fate; <br />And kindly told her, She should find <br />Security around his Rind: <br />Nor was that only his Intent, <br />But to bestow some Nourishment. <br /> <br />The Branches saw, and griev'd to see <br />Some Juices taken from the Tree. <br />Parent, say they, in angry Tone, <br />Your Sap should nourish us alone: <br />Why should you nurse this Stranger Plant, <br />With what your Sons, in time, may want; <br />May want, to raise us high in Air, <br />And make us more distinguish'd there. <br /> <br />'Tis well -- the Parent--Tree reply'd; <br />Must I, to gratify your Pride, <br />Act only with a narrow View <br />Of doing Good to none but you? <br />Know, Sons, tho' Jove hath made me great, <br />I am not safe from Storms of Fate. <br />Is it not prudent then, I pray, <br />To guard against another Day? <br />Whilst I'm alive, You crown my Head; <br />This graces me alive, and dead.<br /><br />Mary Barber<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-oak-and-its-branches/
