Compensation Poem by John Bannister Tabb
Compensation
How many an acorn falls to die
For one that makes a tree!
How many a heart must pass me by
For one that cleaves to me!
How many a suppliant wave of sound
Must still unheeded roll,
For one low utterance that found
An echo in my soul!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: tree
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8/16/2026 6:46:18 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
