When I see a young tree <br />In its white beginning, <br />With white leaves <br />And white buds <br />Barely tipped with green, <br />In the April weather, <br />In the weeping sunshine— <br />Then I see my lady, <br />My democratic queen, <br />Standing free and equal <br />With the youngest woodland sapling <br />Swaying, singing in the wind, <br />Delicate and white: <br />Soul so near to blossom, <br />Fragile, strong as death; <br />A kiss from far-off Eden, <br />A flash of Judgment's trumpet— <br />April's breath.<br /><br />Vachel Lindsay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-lady-is-compared-to-a-young-tree/
