Because my heart is young, trees near the sea Of all things seem most pitiful to me. Eternal winds have humbled them so low They lean to windward always, stoop and grow All dwarfed and squat and writhen out of form, Subservient beneath each lashing storm. God prosper for my sake that lithe young bay Deep in an inland thicket. All the day, Despite intolerant pines, it makes a swirl Of ruffled petticoats in gayest whirl, And, pirouetting in a typsy dance, Coquets with every stripling wind of chance. |