Later Poems

by Bliss Carman


 

The Tree of Heaven


 

YOUNG foreign-born Ailanthus,
Because he grew so fast,
We scorned his easy daring
And doubted it would last.

But lo, when autumn gathers

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And all the woods are old,
He stands in green and salmon,
A glory to behold!

Among the ancient monarchs
His airy tent is spread.

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His rove of coronation
Is tasselled rosy red.

With something strange and Eastern,
His height and grace proclaim
His lineage and title

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Is that celestial name.

This is the Tree of Heaven,
Which seems to say to us,
“Behold how rife is beauty,
And how victorious!”

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