TREES

The Poem

I think that I shall never see       

A poem lovely as a tree.   

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest      

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day, 

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear 

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.    

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

"In the lonely barton' by yonder coomb

Our childhood used to know,”

I should go with him in the gloom,

Hoping it might be so.