The first pine to the second said:

'My leaves are black, my branches red;

I stand upon this moor of mine, A hoar, unconquerable pine.'

The second sniffed and answered: 'Pooh!

I am as good a pine as you.'

'Discourteous tree,' the first replied, 'The tempest in my boughs had cried, The hunter slumbered in my shade, A hundred years ere you were made.'

The second smiled as he returned:

'I shall be here when you are burned.'

So far dissension ruled the pair, Each turned on each a frowning air, When flickering from the bank anigh, A flight of martens met their eye.

Sometime their course they watched; and then -They nodded off to sleep again.