GREEN LEAVES
There in their pride they crouch and wait,
A green-eyed ring of wolves, who slay
The night-bound straggler for their prey. . . .
Closer and closer they inch their way.
A green-eyed ring of wolves, who slay
The night-bound straggler for their prey. . . .
Closer and closer they inch their way.
V.
You think a park is a fenced and clipped
Body of tree claves, manacled tight?
They will march free on their own night.
See how one venturesome root has gripped
And twisted the pavement's concrete mass,
Forcing a widening crevasse.
See how the grass between the bricks
Worries them with its gradual tricks.
See how the slow boughs reach an arm
Over the fence to things forbidden;
And the white roots keep up a hidden
Endless restlessness, groping their harm.
You think a park is a fenced and clipped
Body of tree claves, manacled tight?
They will march free on their own night.
See how one venturesome root has gripped
And twisted the pavement's concrete mass,
Forcing a widening crevasse.
See how the grass between the bricks
Worries them with its gradual tricks.
See how the slow boughs reach an arm
Over the fence to things forbidden;
And the white roots keep up a hidden
Endless restlessness, groping their harm.
The seasons crowd with muffled tread;
Man will abandon the brick-walled street. . . .
The trees' triumph will be complete.
The staid blank walls will be engraved
With what the ivy creepers plaited;
Man will abandon the brick-walled street. . . .
The trees' triumph will be complete.
The staid blank walls will be engraved
With what the ivy creepers plaited;
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