The poem
A YOUNG fig-tree its form lifts high
Within a beauteous garden; And see, a goat is sitting by.
As if he were its warden.
But oh, Quirites, how one errs!
The tree is guarded badly; For round the other side there whirrs
And hums a beetle madly.
The hero with his well-mail'd coat
Nibbles the branches tall so; A mighty longing feels the goat
Gently to climb up also.
And so, my friends, ere long ye see
The tree all leafless standing; It looks a type of misery,
Help of the gods demanding.
Then listen, ye ingenuous youth,
Who hold wise saws respected: From he-goat and from beetles-tooth
A tree should be protected!
1815.