| I THINK that I shall never see |
| A poem lovely as a tree. |
| A tree whose hungry mouth is prest |
| Against the sweet earth's flowing breast; |
| A tree that looks at God all day, |
| And lifts her leafy arms to pray; |
| A tree that may in summer wear |
| A nest of robins in her hair; |
| Upon whose bosom snow has lain; |
| Who intimately lives with rain. |
| Poems are made by fools like me, |
| But only God can make a tree. |