IN the dim woods, one tree <br />Was by the cunning seasons builded fair <br />With the rain's masonry <br />And delicate craft of air. <br /> <br />Unknown of anyone, <br />She was the wind's green daughter. Her the dove <br />Made, between leaf and sun, <br />His murmuring house of love. <br /> <br />Quiet as a seemly thought <br />Her infinite strength of shade she stretched around. <br />Peace like a spell she wrought <br />On that encloséd ground. <br /> <br />Bred of such lowly stuff,– <br />Blown mast, a sheltering day, a tender night,– <br />Now stars seem kin enough <br />To company her height. <br /> <br />She knows not whence she grew. <br />So in my heart, from some forgotten seed, <br />The lovely thought of you <br />Towered to the lovelier need.<br /><br />Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-tree-53/
