THE OAK OF GUERNICA

        William Wordsworth, 1810

Oak of Guernica! Tree of holier power

Than that which in Dodona did enshrine

(So faith too fondly deemed) a voice divine

Heard from the depths of its aerial bower-

How canst thou flourish at this blighting hour?

What hope, what joy can sunshine bring to thee,

Or the soft breezes from the Atlantic sea,

The dews of morn, or April’s tender shower?

Stroke merciful and welcome would that be

Which should extend thy branches on the ground,

If never more within their shady round

Those lofty-minded Lawgivers shall meet,

Peasant and lord, in their appointed seat,

Guardians of Biscay’s ancient liberty.