William Schwenck Gilbert - The Great Oak Tree

There grew a little flower <br />'Neath a great oak tree: <br />When the tempest 'gan to lower <br />Little heeded she: <br />No need had she to cower, <br />For she dreaded not its power - <br />She was happy in the bower <br />Of her great oak tree! <br />Sing hey, <br />Lackaday! <br />Let the tears fall free <br />For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree! <br /> <br />When she found that he was fickle, <br />Was that great oak tree, <br />She was in a pretty pickle, <br />As she well might be - <br />But his gallantries were mickle, <br />For Death followed with his sickle, <br />And her tears began to trickle <br />For her great oak tree! <br />Sing hey, <br />Lackaday! <br />Let the tears fall free <br />For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree! <br /> <br />Said she, "He loved me never, <br />Did that great oak tree, <br />But I'm neither rich nor clever, <br />And so why should he? <br />But though fate our fortunes sever, <br />To be constant I'll endeavour, <br />Ay, for ever and for ever, <br />To my great oak tree!" <br />Sing hey, <br />Lackaday! <br />Let the tears fall free <br />For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!<br /><br />William Schwenck Gilbert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-great-oak-tree/