Grow, grow, thou little tree, His body at the roots of thee; Since last year's loveliness in death The living beauty nourisheth. Bloom, bloom, thou little tree, Thy roots around the heart of me; Thou canst not blow too white and fair From all the sweetness hidden there. Die, die, thou little tree, And be as all sweet things must be; Deep where thy petals drift I, too, Would rest the changing seasons through. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUTH IMPERTURBABLE by CONRAD AIKEN THE HEMP (A VIRGINIA LEGEND) by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE IMPOSSIBLE INDISPENSIBILITY OF THE ARS POETICA by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE SMALLISH SON by HAYDEN CARRUTH ARMAGEDDON by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |