view from Tully Mountain, Connemara,
by Joyce Kilmer (1888-1918)
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing
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 were made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
Go to other poems by Kilmer | The Peacemaker
| A Soldier's Prayer in France |