Songs of the Common Day, and Ave!

An Ode for the Shelley Centenary

by Charles G.D. Roberts

 

MY TREES

 
AT evening, when the winds are still,
    And wide the yellowing landscape glows,
My firwoods on the lonely hill
    Are crowned with sun and loud with crows.
Their flocks throng down the open sky
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    From far salt flats and sedgy seas;
Then dusk and dewfall quench the cry,—
    So calm a home is in my trees.

At morning, when the young wind swings
    The green slim tops and branches high,
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Out puffs a noisy whirl of wings,
    Dispersing up the empty sky.
In this dear refuge no roof stops
    The skyward pinion winnowing through.
My trees shut out the world;—their tops
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    Are open to the infinite blue.