Beware a speedy friend, the Arabian said,
And wisely was it he advised distrust,
The flower that blossoms earliest fades the first.
Look at yon oak that lifts its stately head
And dallies with the autumnal storm, whose rage
Tempests the ocean waves; slowly it rose,
Slowly its strength increased,
through many an age,
And timidly did its light leaves unclose,
As doubtful of the spring, their palest green.
They to the summer cautiously expand,
And by the warmer sun and season bland
Matured, their foliage in the grove is seen,
When the bare forest by the wintry blast
is swept, still lingering on the bough the last.
Robert Southey.
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