THE SOUND OF TREES
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wonder about the trees.Why do we wish to bearForever the noise of theseMore than another noiseSo close to our dwelling place?We suffer them by the dayTill we lose all measure of pace,And fixity in our joys,And acquire a listening air.They are that that talks of goingBut never gets away;And that talks no less for knowing,As it grows wiser and older,That now it means to stay.My feet tug at the floorAnd my head sways to my shoulderSometimes when I watch trees sway,From the window or the door.I shall set forth for somewhere,I shall make the reckless choiceSome day when they are in voiceAnd tossing so as to scareThe white clouds over them on.I shall have less to say,But I shall be gone.
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