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I wonder
about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever
the noise of these
More than another noise
So
close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the
day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity
in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are
that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And
that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and
older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at
the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or
the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall
make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in
voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds
over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I
shall be gone.
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