THERE'S not a person in the street, This merry-making summer day! The houses stand in dull array; No profit on their doors to beat, For all their owners are away.
The gardens blossom white and red All solitary in the sun, Save where some timid creatures run; Secure across the lawns to tread, No human dangers here to shun,—
Since men have gone on holiday; Have left the still, suburban street For that wide park, where people meet In pleasures till the eve is grey. Oh, but the home-coming is sweet!
There's not a person in the street Where wandering in grief I go. These strange small houses, set in row, Send out no human form to greet, No busy footfalls to and fro.
Tall poplars raise their shafts beside; And mingled shades and sunbeams bless God's Acre, in its quietness— God's town, where men are drawn to bide Untroubled by the world's distress.
There comes no opening of the gate, Though to my friend I plead and pray. ‘Patience!' the trees and sunbeams say. ‘Here only empty houses wait, While souls are keeping holiday.'
Song of the Trees
- by Mary Colborne-Veel21
WE are the Trees. Our dark and leafy glade Bands the bright earth with softer mysteries. Beneath us changed and tamed the seasons run: In burning zones, we build against the sun Long centuries of shade.
We are the Trees, Who grow for man's desire, Heat in our faithful hearts, and fruits that please. Dwelling beneath our tents, he lightly gains The few sufficiencies his life attains— Shelter, and food, and fire.
We are the Trees That by great waters stand, By rills that murmur to our murmuring bees. And where, in tracts all desolate and waste, The palm-foot stays, man follows on, to taste Springs in the desert sand.
We are the Trees Who travel where he goes Over the vast, inhuman, wandering seas. His tutors we, in that adventure brave— He launched with us upon the untried wave, And now its mastery knows.
We are the Trees Who bear him company In life and death. His happy sylvan ease He wins through us; through us, his cities spread That like a forest guard his unfenced head 'Gainst storm and bitter sky.
We are the Trees. On us the dying rest Their strange, sad eyes, in farewell messages. And we, his comrades still, since earth began, Wave mournful boughs above the grave of man, And coffin his cold breast.
Poems by Mary Colborne-Veel, Mary Colborne-Veel's poems collection. Mary Colborne-Veel is a classical and famous poet (New Zealand). Share all poems of Mary Colborne-Veel.