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More poems by Philip LarkinPhilip Larkin | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Philip LarkinBooks by Philip Larkin

The Trees

Philip Larkin

The trees are coming into leaf 
Like something almost being said; 
The recent buds relax and spread, 
Their greenness is a kind of grief. 

Is it that they are born again 
And we grow old? No, they die too, 
Their yearly trick of looking new 
Is written down in rings of grain. 

Yet still the unresting castles thresh 
In fullgrown thickness every May. 
Last year is dead, they seem to say, 
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh. 

Added: 24 Jun 2002 | Last Read: 23 May 2017 8:22 PM | Viewed: 19899 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/4881/ | Viewed on 23 May 2017.
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