I think I shall never see,
A poem lovely as a tree,
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed,
Against the earth’s, sweet flowering 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 people like me,
But only God can make a tree !