ADVICE TO MAPLE-TREES
O little maple-trees,Slender and unkempt, looking with shaggy askanceUpon the moon-spiked solitude;O little maple-trees,Growing a little toward the skyThat touches you to all eyes save your own,You rattle insistently for wings,But wings could never tearThe stain of earth from your feet:The earth that gnaws at you untilYour wing-cries strike the autumn night.You see, with me, this crescent moonJuggled on the tawny fingertipOf a running cloud.The touch of your desire, or its fall,Would but be symbols of an equal death.
O little maple-trees,Slender and unkempt, looking with shaggy askanceUpon the moon-spiked solitude;O little maple-trees,Growing a little toward the skyThat touches you to all eyes save your own,You rattle insistently for wings,But wings could never tearThe stain of earth from your feet:The earth that gnaws at you untilYour wing-cries strike the autumn night.You see, with me, this crescent moonJuggled on the tawny fingertipOf a running cloud.The touch of your desire, or its fall,Would but be symbols of an equal death.
O little maple-trees,
Slender and unkempt, looking with shaggy askance
Upon the moon-spiked solitude;
O little maple-trees,
Growing a little toward the sky
That touches you to all eyes save your own,
You rattle insistently for wings,
But wings could never tear
The stain of earth from your feet:
The earth that gnaws at you until
Your wing-cries strike the autumn night.
You see, with me, this crescent moon
Juggled on the tawny fingertip
Of a running cloud.
The touch of your desire, or its fall,
Would but be symbols of an equal death.