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...CHAMBER MUSIC: 32 by JAMES JOYCE NOTES FOR THE FIRST LINE OF A SPANISH POEM by JAMES GALVIN DEAF HOUSE AGENT by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JOSEPH DIXON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS NOTHING WILL CURE THE SICK LION BUT TO EAT AN APE' by MARIANNE MOORE BALLADE OF DEAD FRIENDS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |