A lonely, twisted oak with clumps of mistletoe hanging from its boughs draws the speaker’s attention. The roots have enclosed a circle, which makes him imagine something valuable buried beneath the tree. But when he digs, he finds no gold—only great black ants that attack his hands. That failure does not fade. In his nightmare he sees not treasure but the eyes of ants swarming from a mouldering box of gold. The speaker’s early curiosity and hope turn into shock and pain, then deepen into dread. The gold becomes rotten and infested, as if the dream itself has been spoiled. What first looked like a sign of hidden wealth becomes a source of nightmare. The mood is quiet but unsettling, like the twisted tree and the strange, clinging mistletoe. The buried circle promises wonder, but it delivers only a biting, creeping fear. The speaker is left with a private unease, much like the oak standing alone.
An Oak — Summary
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.