Trees need not walk the earth For beauty or for bread; Beauty will come to them Where they stand. Here among the children of the sap Is no pride of ancestry: A birch may wear no less the morning Than an oak. Here are no heirlooms Save those of loveliness, In which each tree Is kingly in its heritage of grace. Here is but beauty’s wisdom In which all trees are wise. Trees need not walk the earth For beauty or for bread; Beauty will come to them In the rainbow— The sunlight— And the lilac-haunted rain; And bread will come to them As beauty came: In the rainbow— In the sunlight— In the rain.
This poem is in the public domain.
The mist has left the greening plain,
The dew-drops shine like fairy rain,
The coquette rose awakes again
Her lovely self adorning.
The Wind is hiding in the trees,
A sighing, soothing, laughing tease,
Until the rose says "kiss me, please"
'Tis morning, 'tis morning.
With staff in hand and careless-free,
The wanderer fares right jauntily,
For towns and houses are, thinks he,
For scorning, for scorning,
My soul is swift upon the wing,
And in its deeps a song I bring;
come, Love, and we together sing,
" 'Tis morning, 'tis morning."
This poem is in the public domain.