Explore "An Oak" by John Gould Fletcher on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Hoar mistletoe Hangs in clumps To the twisted boughs Of this lonely tree.
Beneath its roots I often thought treasure was buried: For the roots had enclosed a circle.
But when I dug beneath them, I could only find great black ants That attacked my hands.
When at night I have the nightmare, I always see the eyes of ants Swarming from a mouldering box of gold.