1726 Canadian Foresfrij Journal, June, 1918 



t — — ^^ 



r " " ] I 



I The Poet's Reading of the Trees \ ! 



i 1 I 



l|lii iia.^i)ti nil •!» >» .»-. «)> .1" '«! in. .- r « If 



THE HAWTHORNE-TREE 

 By Siegfried Sassoon 



Not much to me is yonder lane 



Where I go every day; 



But when there's been a shower of rain 



And hedge-birds whistle gay, 



I know my lad that's out in France 



With fearsome things to see 



Would give his eyes for just one glance 



At our white hawthorne-tree.. 



Not much to me is yonder lane 



Where he so longs to tread : 



But when there's been a shower of rain 



I think I'll never weep again 



Until I've heard he's dead. 



THE STILL TREES 

 By John Russell McCarthy 



I thank you, Elm and Beech and all my 



friends 

 That live so wisely on the happy hills, 

 I thank you for your silence. Even a friend 

 (Especially a friend) must have his moods. 

 His long still days of dreaming silence spent 

 In strange communion with his soul and 



God. 



And you, my friends, have chosen for your 



silence 

 The slow lean months of winter. All the 



burdens 

 And all the joys of this embattled earth 

 You dare forget, so that your soul and God 

 May have their hour of studious solitude. 



So I, friends, who walk among you now. 

 Go searching inward to the soul in me, 

 And bend my dreams unto the God we 



know 

 I thank you, \L\m and Beech and all my 



friends 

 That live so wisely on the happy hills. 



THE POPLARS 

 By Theodosia Garrison 



My poplars are like ladies trim 

 Each conscious of her own estate; 

 In costume somewhat over-prim. 

 In manner cordially sedate, 

 Ljke two old neighbors met to chat 

 Beside my garden gate. 



My stately old aristocrats — 

 I fancy still their talk must be 

 Of rose conserves and Persian cats, 

 And lavender and Indian tea; 

 I wonder sometimes as I pass 

 If they approve of me. 



I give them greeting night and morn, 



I like to think they answer, too. 



With that benign assurance born 



When youth gives age the reverence dwe. 



And bend their wise heads as I go 



As courteous ladies do. 



Long may you stand before my door. 

 Oh, kindly neighbors garbed in green, 

 And bend with rustling welcome o'er 

 The many friends who pass between; 

 And where the little children play 

 Look down with gracious mien. 



THE LONELY TREE 

 By Wilfred Wilson Gibson 



A twisted ash, a ragged fir, 

 A silver birch with leaves astir. 



Men talk of forests broad and deep. 

 Where summer long the shadows sleep. 



Tho' I love forests deep and wide. 

 The lone tree on the bare hillside. 



The brave, wind-beaten, lonely tree 

 Is rooted in the heart of me. 



.\ twisted ash, a ragged fir, 

 A silver birch with leaves astir. 



4m_.. 



