If I should live in a forest<br> And sleep underneath a tree,<br>No grove of impudent saplings<br> Would make a home for me.<br><br>I'd go where the old oaks gather,<br> Serene and good and strong,<br>And they would not sigh and tremble<br> And vex me with a song.<br><br>The pleasantest sort of poet<br> Is the poet who's old and wise,<br>With an old white beard and wrinkles<br> About his kind old eyes.<br>...