Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HILL-SIDE TREE, by MAXWELL BODENHEIM



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HILL-SIDE TREE, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Like a drowsy, rain-browned saint
Last Line: With a whisper that holds the smile you cannot shape.
Subject(s): Trees


Like a drowsy, rain-browned saint,
You squat, and sometimes your voice,
In which the wind takes no part,
Is like mists of music wedding each other.
A drunken, odor-laced peddler is the morning wind.
He brings you golden-scarfed cities
Whose voices are swirls of bells burdened with summer;
And maidens whose hearts are galloping princes.
And you raise your branches to the sky,
With a whisper that holds the smile you cannot shape.





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