An oak tree stands at the center of this scene, but it does not feel neutral or harmless. The speaker keeps away from it, sensing that the tree has “an air of hate.” Its branches look as if they are holding up a hanged man, and even the moonlight seems tangled in them. Around it, the world turns strange and threatening: a distant steeple “barks,” and something buried nearby feels unloved and hostile. The mood is tight and uneasy, like a bad dream pressing into a real place. In the last lines, the speaker remembers going too close at night and being clawed by a red cat that leapt from the dark. That sudden violence makes the fear personal and physical. The oak becomes more than a tree—it is a spot where dread, guilt, or old violence seems to gather.
Another Oak — Summary
Poison ivy crawls at its root, I dare not approach it, It has an air of hate.
One would say a man had been hanged to its branches, It holds them in such a way.
The moon gets tangled in it, A distant steeple seems to bark From its belfry to the sky.
Something that no one ever loved, Is buried here: Some grey shape of deadly hate, Crawls on the back fence just beyond.
Now I remember--once I went Out by night too near this oak, And a red cat suddenly leapt From the dark and clawed my face.