City Trees

        The trees along this city street,
            Save for the traffic and the trains,
        Would make a sound as thin and sweet
            As trees in country lanes.

        And people standing in their shade
            Out of a shower, undoubtedly
        Would hear such music as is made
            Upon a country tree.

        Oh, little leaves that are so dumb
            Against the shrieking city air,
        I watch you when the wind has come,--
            I know what sound is there.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

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Edna St. Vincent Millay

The Little Hill

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Simple Poetry

Sonnet VI Bluebeard

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Simple Poetry

The Poet And His Book

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Simple Poetry

Sonnet II

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

When Trees Are Green.

    Would you be glad of heart and good?
    Would you forget life's toil and care?
    Come, lose yourself in this old wood
    When May's soft touch is everywhere.

    The hawthorn trees are white as snow,
    The basswood flaunts its feathery sprays,
    The willows kiss the stream below
    And listen to its flatteries:

    "O willows supple, yellow, green,
    Long have I flowed o'er stock and stone,
    I say with truth I have not seen
    A rarer beauty than your own!"

    The rough-bark hickory, elm, and beech
    With quick'ning thrill and growth are rife;
    Oak, maple, through the heart of each
    There runs a glorious tide of life.

    Fresh leaves, young buds on every hand,
    On trunk and limb a hint of red,
 ...

Jean Blewett

The Trees.

When on the spring's enchanting blue
You trace your slender leaves and few,
Then do I wish myself re-born
To lands of hope, to lands of morn.

And when you wear your rich attire,
Your autumn garments, touched with fire,
I want again that ardent soul
That dared the race and dreamed the goal.

But, oh, when leafless, dark and high,
You rise against this winter sky,
I hear God's word: "Stand still and see
How fair is mine austerity!"

Margaret Steele Anderson

The Sound Of The Trees

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.

Robert Lee Frost

Afternoon On A Hill

    I will be the gladdest thing
        Under the sun!
    I will touch a hundred flowers
        And not pick one.

    I will look at cliffs and clouds
        With quiet eyes,
    Watch the wind bow down the grass,
        And the grass rise.

    And when lights begin to show
        Up from the town,
    I will mark which must be mine,
        And then start down!

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Songs Of Shattering III

    All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree!
        Ere spring was going--ah, spring is gone!
    And there comes no summer to the like of you and me,--
        Blossom time is early, but no fruit sets on.

    All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree,
        Browned at the edges, turned in a day;
    And I would with all my heart they trimmed a mound for me,
        And weeds were tall on all the paths that led that way!

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Sounds And Sights

Little leaves, that lean your ears
From each branch and bough of spring,
What is that your rapture hears?
Song of bird or flight of wing,
All so eager, little ears?
"Hush, oh, hush! Oh, don't you hear
Steps of beauty drawing near?
Neither flight of bee nor bird
Hark! the steps of Love are heard!"...
Little buds, that crowd with eyes
Every bush and every tree,
What is this that you surmise?
What is that which you would see,
So attentive, little eyes?
"Look, oh, look! Oh, can't you see
Loveliness camps 'neath each tree?
See her hosts and hear them sing,
Marching with the maiden Spring!"

Madison Julius Cawein