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First Line: Stiff in midsummer green, the stolid hillsides
Last Line: "swiftly we live and splendidly we die."
Alternate Author Name(s): Lewis, Michael
Subject(s): Trees


Stiff in midsummer green, the stolid hillsides
March with their trees, dependable and stanch,
Except where here and there a lawless maple
Thrusts to the sky one red, rebellious branch.

You see them standing out, these frank insurgents,
With that defiant and arresting plume;
Scattered, they toss this flame like some wild signal,
Calling their comrades to a brilliant doom.

What can it mean -- this strange, untimely challenge;
This proclamation of an early death?
Are they so tired of earth they fly the banner
Of dissolution and a bleeding faith?

Or is it, rather than a brief defiance,
An anxious welcome to a vivid strife?
A glow, a heart-beat, and a bright acceptance
Of all the rich exuberance of life.

Rebellious or resigned, they flaunt their color,
A sudden torch, a burning battle-cry.
"Light up the world," they wave to all the others;
"Swiftly we live and splendidly we die."






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