Tree Poems
DIALOGUE OF A MAN AND A TREE
The Man: Why do you grow so tall, way up there in the sky?
The Tree: I love the heights that are clean and free, where the lonely eagles fly, where the crane and the hawk can nest with me, and my friends, the geese, go by.
The Man: What do you use for food, tree to make you grow and grow?
The Tree: I live on a diet of Nature's best from my roots deep down below; I never go hungry, I rest and rest and wait for the rain and the snow.
The Man: How do you grow so strong, Tree, sturdy and straight and true?
The Tree: I live in the light of the sunshine and yarn for the sky's deep blue; the clean, sweet air is always mine, and the cold winds help me too.
The Man: How do you live so long, Tree, so much longer than man?
The Tree: I've geared my days with the Creator's ways since ever the world began. There is no death when life keeps faith with nature's wonderful plan.--
Vincent Godfrey Burns, Poet Laureate of Maryland, 1965
I LOVE A TREE
When I pass to my reward.Whatever that may be,I'd like my friends to think of meAs one who loved a tree.
I may not have a statesman's poiseNor thrill a throng with speechBut I may benefit mankindIf I set out a beech.
If I transport a sapling oak To rear its mighty headTwill make for them a childhood shrine, That will not soon decay.
Of if I plant a tree with fruit,On which the birds may feed,Then I have fostered feathered friendsAnd that's a worthy deed.
For winter when the days grow shortAnd spirits may run lowI'd plant a pine upon the scapeT'would lend a cheery glow.
I'd like a tree to mark the spotWhere I am laid to restFor that would be the epitaphThat I would like the best.
Tho it's not carved upon a stoneFor those who come to seeBut friends would know that resting there Is he, who loved a tree-
- Samuel N. Baxter
My heart is glad, my heart is highWith sudden ecstacy!I have given back, before I die, Some thanks for every lovely treeThat dead men grew for me.
- V. H. Friedlaendeer
PLANTING A TREE
What does he plant who plants a tree?A scion full of potency,He plants his faith, a prophecy Of bloom, and fruitfulness to be;He plans a shade where robins sing,Where orioles their nestlings swing;A burning bush - a miracle!Who plants a tree, - he doeth well!
What does he plant who plants a tree?An emblem of the men to be;Who lightly tough terrestrial clay,But far above the earth, awayFrom sordid things and base,Incarnate ideals for their raceWho plants a tree, he doeth well,--Performs with God, a miracle!Author Unknown
What does he plant who plants a treeHe plants, in sap and leaf and wood, In love of home and loyalty,And far-cast thought of civic goodHis blessing on the neighborhood.Charles Lathrop Pack
I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
- Joyce Kilmer, Trees
TREES
I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressedAgainst the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all dayAnd lifts her leafy arms to pray,
A tree that may in summer wearA nest of robins in her hair
Upon whose blossom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems were made by fools like meBut only God can make a tree.
Joyce Kilmer
THE CLASS TREE
Grow thou and flourish well,Ever the story tell of this glad day;Long may thy branches raiseTo heaven our grateful praise;Waft then on sunlight raysTo God away.
Deep in the earth today,Safely the roots we lay,Tree of our love;Grow thou and flourish long!Every our grateful songShall its glad notes prolongTo God above.
Let music swell the breezeAnd ring from all the treesOn this glad day,Bless thou each student bandO'er all our happy land;Teach them Thy love's commandGreat God, we pray.
- Emma S. Thomas
TREES OF THE FRAGRANT FOREST
Trees of the fragrant forest,With leaves of green unfurled, Through summer's heat, through winter's cold, What do you do for our world?
Our green leaves catch the raindropsThat fall with soothing sound.Then drop them slowly, slowly down,Tis better for the ground.
When, rushing down the hillside,A mighty fresher foams,Our giants trunks and spreading rootsDefend your happy homes.
From burning heat in summerWe offer cool retreat,Protect the land in winter stormFrom cold, and wind and sleet.
Our falling leaves in autumn By breezes turned and tossed,Will rake a deep sponge-carpet warm,Which saves the ground from frost.
We give you pulp for paper,Our fuel gives you heat;We furnish lumber for your homes,And nuts and fruit to eat.
With strong and graceful outline,With branches green and bare,We fill the land through all the year,With beauty everywhere.
So Listen! From the forestEach one a message sendsTo children this Arbor Day;"We trees are your best friends!"
What does he plant who plants a tree?He plants the friend of sun and sky;He plants the flag of breezes free;The shaft of beauty, towering high;He plants a home to heaven anighFor song and mother-croon of birdIn hushed and happy twilight heard -The treble of heaven's harmonyThese things he plants who plants a tree.
- Henry Cuyler Bunner,
The Heart of the Tree
To early man, trees were objects of awe and wonder. The mystery of their growth, the movement of their leavesand branches, the way they seemed to die and come againto life in spring, the sudden growth of the plant from the seed - all these appeared to be miracles as indeedthey still are, miracles of nature!
- Ruskin Bond,
The World of Trees
When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy's been swinging them. But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay. Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust- Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm (Now am I free to be poetical?) I should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows- Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, Whose only play was what he found himself, Summer or winter, and could play alone. One by one he subdued his father's trees By riding them down over and over again Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer. He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be. It's when I'm weary of considerations, And life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig's having lashed across it open. I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
--Robert Frost
The Sound of the Trees
I wonder about the trees. Why do we wish to bear Forever the noise of these More than another noise So close to our dwelling place? We suffer them by the day Till we lose all measure of pace, And fixity in our joys, And acquire a listening air. They are that talks of going But 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 floor And my head sways to my shoulder Sometimes 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 scare The white clouds over them on.I shall have less to say, But I shall be gone.
--Robert Frost
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep.
--Robert Frost
Growth of a Tree
I'm a little maple, oh so small,In years ahead, I'll grow so tall!With a lot of water, sun, and air,I will soon be way up there!
Deep inside the soil my roots are found,Drinking the water underground.Water from the roots my trunk receives,Then my trunk starts making leaves.
As I start to climb in altitude,Leaves on my branches will make food.Soon my trunk and branches will grow wide,And I'll grow more bark outside!
I will be a maple very tall,Losing my leaves when it is fall.But when it is spring, new leaves will show.How do trees grow? Now you know!
---Meish Goldish
Trees
Trees just stand around all day and sun themselves and rest.
They never walk or run away and surely that is best.
For otherwise how would a squirrel or robin find its nest?
-Aileen Fisher
Open House
If I were a tree I'd want to see a bird with a song on a branch of me.
I'd want a quick little squirrel to run up and down and around, for fun.
I'd want the cub of a bear to call,and a porcupine, big,and a tree toad, small.
I'd want a katydid out of sight on one of my leaves to sing at night.
And down by my roots I'd want a mouse with six little mouselings in her house.
-Aileen Fisher
Our Tree
When spring comes round, our apple tree Is very full of flowers,And when a bird sits on a branch The petals fall in showers.
When summer comes, our apples tree Is very full of green,And everywhere you look in it There is a leafy screen.
When autumn comes, our apple tree Is full of things to eat.The apples hang from every branch To tumble at our feet.
When winter comes, our apple tree Is full of snow and ice And rabbits come to visit it . . .We think our tree is nice.
-Marchette Chute
Much can they praise the trees so straight and high,The sailing pine,the cedar proud and tall,The vine-prop elm, the poplar never dry,The builder oak, sole king of forests all,The aspin good for staves, the cypress funeral,The laurel, meed of mighty conquerorsAnd poets sage, the fir that weepiest still,The yew obedient to the bender's will,The birch for shafts, the sallow for the mill,The myrrh sweet-bleeding in the bitter wound,The warlike beech, the ash for nothing ill,The fruitful olive, and the platane round,The carver holm, the maple seldom inward sound.
- Edmund Spenser, Faerie Queene
Windy Tree
Think of the muscles a tall tree grows in its leg, in its foot,in its wide-spread toes -not to tip over and fall on its nose when a wild wind hustles and tussels and blows.
-Aileen Fisher
