The Trees

The trees are all the world to me;
Their roots in earth, unyielding, tied,
But leaves are blown. There, around the bending trunk, embrace,
They playfully divulge their heart.

With murmurs filled, the branches sway
As the sunlight plays a golden gleam,
They touch the green grass with loving grace.
Flowers whisper, and sweet birds sing,
The trees that give us shade,
Allow the breezes, their angel dance—
And here I stand, holding on.

• Sarah Orne Jewett