I
think
that I
shall never
see. A poem
lovely as a tree
A tree whose hungry
mouth is prest, againts
the earth's sweet flowing
breast; A tree that looks at
God all day, and lifts her leafy
arms to pray; A tree that may in
summer wear, a nest of robins in
her hair; Upon whose bosom snow
has lain, who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made
by fools like me,
But only God can
make a tree.