The tree has entered my hands, The sap has ascended my arms, The tree has grown in my breast -- Downward, The branches grow out of me, like arms. Tree you are, Moss you are, You are violets with wind above them. A child -- @3so@1 high -- you are, And all this is folly to the world. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOEL: CHRISTMAS EVE, 1913 by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES AN ODE TO HIMSELF by BEN JONSON IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 101 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE SCHOOL GIRL by WILLIAM HENRY VENABLE TRUTH AND SORROW by PHILIP JAMES BAILEY THE LAST MAN: RECEPTION OF EVIL TIDINGS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |