I wonder about the trees. <br />Why do we wish to bear <br />Forever the noise of these <br />More than another noise <br />So close to our dwelling place? <br />We suffer them by the day <br />Till we lose all measure of pace, <br />And fixity in our joys, <br />And acquire a listening air. <br />They are that that talks of going <br />But never gets away; <br />And that talks no less for knowing, <br />As it grows wiser and older, <br />That now it means to stay. <br />My feet tug at the floor <br />And my head sways to my shoulder <br />Sometimes when I watch trees sway, <br />From the window or the door. <br />I shall set forth for somewhere, <br />I shall make the reckless choice <br />Some day when they are in voice <br />And tossing so as to scare <br />The white clouds over them on. <br />I shall have less to say, <br />But I shall be gone.<br /><br />Robert Lee Frost<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sound-of-the-trees-the/
