A Young Birch There’s a young birch sapling by my door;
Come to my house—each year thickening now,
Its green has grown from pale to darker hues—
The bark worn bright, soft in a glistening hue.

And there’s a hint of memory in its woods; A trellis of more than oak—becoming dawns
Entwined with breaths that will round the earlier news! Do you crave the night becalmed by time to pause?
Let us dwell within this time before the stars.

A careless baby sighs beside the door,
And wind goes hum and goes away to night
For all the times this tree save in the air, And keeps her light, untamed by black and white. Wheree’er the whispers walk and whoever leans— These stronger blooms shall grow where flesh is kind.

Lively pines; a birch tree having known it’s swarm
Dares to bring those drops of dew o’er petals trimmed. I say let us nap at twilight’s lavish time,
Let us sleep beneath these voiceless clouds and hear
Their breath whose power shall reach us through and lie
Beneath the lives lost on the wind beneath the sky!

• Robert Frost