The Oak and the Reed

One time the Oak said, "Reed, let's talk.
I see how you might say that nature is unfair.
Even a wren must be a burden on your stalk
And any passing puff of air
That corrugates the water's face
Makes you bow down. Yet in my case
My brow, unyielding as a granite mountainside,
Not only stops those rays the sun shoots far and wide
But it defies huge tempests, too.
Life is a breeze for me, a hurricane for you.
If you could spring up here beneath my leafage, spread
To shelter everything around,
No storm could ever touch your head
For I would guard you night and day,
And yet you seem confined to ground
That borders humid kingdoms where the winds hold sway.
No, nature is not fair to you, I have to say."
"Old oak," the reed replied, "your sentiments betray
A natural goodness. But leave off worrying for me;
Far less than you am I endangered by the wind—
I never break, I merely bend.
And though till now your back has weathered every blow
The wind has struck, we never know
How things will end, we always have to wait and see."
Just then, through the horizon's crack, the worst
Of all the North wind's awful offspring burst
In fury from that howling pack and battered both.
The reed bowed low, the oak stood fast.
Then doubly hard the wind drew breath
And raged and roared till one came down—
The one that had well-nigh brushed heaven at its crown,
But at its base was rooted in the realm of death.

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