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

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.

His rove of coronation
Is tasselled rosy red.

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

Is that celestial name.

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