Looking upon this tree with its quaint pretension
Of holding the earth, a leveret, in its claws,
Or marking the texture of its living bark,
A grey sea wrinkled by the winds of years,
I understand whence this man's body comes,
In veins and fibres, the bare boughs of bone,
The trellised thicket, where the heart, that robin,
Greets with a song the seasons of the blood.
But where in meadow or mountain shall I match
The individual accent of the speech
That is the ear's familiar? To what sun attribute
The honeyed warmness of his smile?
To which of the deciduous brood is german
The angel peeping from the latticed eye?
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Comments
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Try as I might I might I cannot find any other version than this one we have now. Bri - if you can add anything at all here it would be most welcome.
Please add it as a comment and we'll do the rest - thank you
Vonnie -
some missing
From guest bri (contact)
is this the full poem....???? im studying this poem as my english coursework and the poem i hav is this only there is alot more to it!!!
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