I CAN tell balsam trees By their grayish bluish silverish look of smoke. Pine trees fringe out. Hemlocks look like Christmas. The spruce tree is feathered and rough Like the legs of the red chickens in our poultry yard. I can study my geography from chickens Named for Plymouth Rock and Rhode Island, And from trees out of Canada. No; I shall leave the chickens out. I shall make a new geography of my own. I shall have a hillside of spruce and hemlock Like a separate country, And I shall mark a walk of spires on my map, A secret road of balsam trees With blue buds. Trees Fat smell like a wind out of fairy-land Where little people live Who need no geography But trees. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE EXPOSED NEST by ROBERT FROST THE POET AND HIS BOOK by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY INSCRIPTIONS: 2. FOR A STATUE OF CHAUCER AT WOODSTOCK by MARK AKENSIDE A CHRISTMAS HYMN by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER ON THE FUNERAL OF CHARLES I; AT NIGHT, IN ST. GEORGE'S CHAPEL, WINDSOR by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. LITTLE HEART by EDWARD CARPENTER THE INCONSTANT by ABRAHAM COWLEY LINES FOR .. COLLECTION BY MISS PATTY, SISTER OF HANNAH MORE by WILLIAM COWPER |