Why do you always stand there shivering
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he people pass through the dustOn bicycles, in carts, in motor-cars;The waggoners go by at dawn;The lovers walk on the grass path at night. Stir from your roots, walk, poplar!You are more beautiful than they are. I know that the white wind loves you,Is always kissing you and turning upThe white lining of your green petticoat.The sky darts through you like blue rain,And the grey rain drips on your flanksAnd loves you.And I have seen the moonSlip his silver penny into your pocketAs you straightened your hair;And the white mist curling and hesitatingLike a bashful lover about your knees. I know you, poplar;I have watched you since I was ten.But if you had a little real love,A little strength,You would leave your nonchalant idle loversAnd go walking down the white roadBehind the waggoners.
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