The open hands of my tree held out to the touch of the air As love that opens its arms and waits on the lover's will; The curtsey, the sway, and the toss of the spray as it sports with the breeze; Rhythmical whisper of leaves that murmur and move in the light; Crying of wind in the boughs, the beautiful music of pain: Thus do you sing and say The sorrow, the effort, the sweet surrender, the joy.

Come! tented leaves of my tree; High summer is here, the moment of pa.s.sionate life, The hushed, the maternal hour.

Deep in the shaded green your mystery shielding, Heir of the ancient woods and parent of forests to be, Lo! to your keeping is given the Father's life-giving thought; The thing that is dream and deed and carries the gift of the past.

For this, for this, great tree, The glory of maiden leaves, the solemn stretch of the bough, The wise persistent roots Into the stuff of the world their filaments forcing, Breaking the earth to their need.

Tall tree, your name is peace.

You are the channel of G.o.d: His mystical sap, Elixir of infinite love, syrup of infinite power, Swelling and shaping, brooding and hiding, With out-thrust of delicate joy, with pitiless pageant of death, Sings in your cells; Its rhythmical cycle of life In you is fulfilled.

EVELYN UNDERHILL

"LOVELIEST OF TREES"

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room, About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow.

A. E. HOUSMAN

THE SPIRIT OF THE BIRCH

I am the dancer of the wood I shimmer in the solitude Men call me Birch Tree, yet I know In other days it was not so.

I am a Dryad slim and white Who danced too long one summer night, And the Dawn found and prisoned me!

Captive I moaned my liberty.

But let the wood wind flutes begin Their elfin music, faint and thin, I sway, I bend, retreat, advance, And evermore--I dance! I dance!

ARTHUR KETCHUM

FAMILY TREES

You boast about your ancient line, But listen, stranger, unto mine:

You trace your lineage afar, Back to the heroes of a war Fought that a country might be free; Yea, farther--to a stormy sea Where winter's angry billows tossed, O'er which your Pilgrim Fathers crossed.

Nay, more--through yellow, dusty tomes You trace your name to English homes Before the distant, unknown West Lay open to a world's behest; Yea, back to days of those Crusades When Turk and Christian crossed their blades, You point with pride to ancient names, To powdered sires and painted dames; You boast of this--your family tree; Now listen, stranger, unto me:

When armored knights and gallant squires, Your own beloved, honored sires, Were in their infants' blankets rolled, My fathers' youngest sons were old; When they broke forth in infant tears My fathers' heads were crowned with years, Yea, ere the mighty Saxon host Of which you sing had touched the coast, Looked back as far as you look now.

Yea, when the Druids trod the wood, My venerable fathers stood And gazed through misty centuries As far as even Memory sees.

When Britain's eldest first beheld The light, my fathers then were eld.

You of the splendid ancestry, Who boast about your family tree,

Consider, stranger, this of mine-- Bethink the lineage of a Pine.

DOUGLAS MALLOCH

IDEALISTS

Brother Tree: Why do you reach and reach?

Do you dream some day to touch the sky?

Brother Stream: Why do you run and run?

Do you dream some day to fill the sea?

Brother Bird: Why do you sing and sing?

Do you dream-- _Young Man: Why do you talk and talk and talk?_

ALFRED KREYMBORG

"DRAW CLOSER, O YE TREES"

O quiet cottage room, Whose cas.e.m.e.nts, looking o'er the garden-close, Are hid in wildings and the woodbine bloom And many a clambering rose,

Sweet is thy light subdued, Gracious and soft, lingering upon my book, As that which shimmers through the branched wood Above some dreamful nook!

Leaning within my chair, Through the curtain I can see the stir-- The gentle undulations of the air-- Sway the dark-layered fir;

And, in the beechen green, Mark many a squirrel romp and chirrup loud; While far beyond, the chestnut-boughs between, Floats the white summer cloud.

Through the loopholes in the leaves, Upon the yellow slopes of far-off farms, I see the rhythmic cradlers and the sheaves Gleam in the binders' arms.

At times I note, nearby, The flicker tapping on some hollow bole; And watch the sun, against the sky, The fluting oriole;

Or, when the day is done, And the warm splendors make the oak-top flush, Hear him, full-throated in the setting sun,-- The darling wildwood thrush.

O sanctuary shade Enfold one round! I would no longer roam: Let not the thought of wandering e'er invade This still, reclusive home!

Draw closer, O ye trees!

Veil from my sight e'en the loved mountain's blue; The world may be more fair beyond all these, Yet I would know but you!

LLOYD MIFFLIN

TREES

In the Garden of Eden, planted by G.o.d, There were goodly trees in the springing sod,--

Trees of beauty and height and grace, To stand in splendor before His face.

Apple and hickory, ash and pear, Oak and beech and the tulip rare,

The trembling aspen, the n.o.ble pine, The sweeping elm by the river line;

Trees for the birds to build and sing, And the lilac tree for a joy in spring;