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"The Trees"
In celebration of the first day of Spring.
The Trees
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too.
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.
Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.
Philip Larkin (1922-1985)
The Norton Anthology of Poetry (shorter fourth edition), 1997, p. 935.
See also these:
P.S. Thanks, Amanda.
Lane Core Jr. CIW P — Mon. 03/20/06 07:14:48 AM
Categorized as Literary.
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