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Why do trees along the river
Lean so far out o’er the tide?
Very wise men tell me why, but
I am never satisfied;
And so I keep my fancy still,
That trees lean out to save
The drowning from the clutches of
The cold, remorseless wave.
From The Poems of Alexander Lawrence Posey (Crane & Co., 1910). This poem is in the public domain.
(To the South Wind)
O Wind, hast thou a sigh
Robbed from her lips divine
Upon this sunbright day—
A token or a sign?
Oh, take me, Wind, into
Thy confidence, and tell
Me, whispering soft and low,
The secrets of the dell.
Oh, teach me what it is
The meadow flowers say
As to and fro they nod
Thro’ all the golden day.
Oh, hear, Wind of the South,
And whispering softer yet,
Unfold the story of
The lone pine tree’s regret.
A winged bit of Indian sky
Strayed hither from its home on high.
Far, far, far are my silver waters drawn;
The hills embrace me loth to let me go;
The maidens think me fair to look upon,
And trees lean over glad to hear me flow.
Thro’ field and valley, green because of me,
I wander, wander to the distant sea.