You are like the stem br Of a young beech-tree, br Straight and swaying, br Breaking out in golden leaves. br Your walk is like the blowing of a beech-tree br On a hill. br Your voice is like leaves br Softly struck upon by a South wind. br Your shadow is no shadow, but a scattered sunshine; br And at night you pull the sky down to you br And hood yourself in stars. br br But I am like a great oak under a cloudy sky, br Watching a stripling beech grow up at my feet.