I think that I shall never see 

 A poem lovely as a tree. 



A tree wliose hungry mouth is pressed 

 Against the earth's sweet flowing 

 breast ; 



A tree that looks at God all day 

 And lifts her leafy arms to pray; 



A tree that may in summer wear 

 A nest of robins in her hair; 



Upon whose bosom snow has lain; 

 Who intimately lives with rain. 



Poems are made by fools like me, 

 But only God can make a tree. 



By Joyce Kilmer 



[73] 



