282 ARBOR DAY 



How they talk each to each, when none of us are 



knowing; 



In the wonderful white of the weird moonlight, 

 Or the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing. 



I love, I love them so my green things growing! 

 And I think that they love me, without false showing; 

 For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so 



much, 

 With the soft mute comfort of green things growing. 



