In a London square, one plane-tree stays vividly green while the other trees turn brown and droop, pining for country air. From her attic window, the speaker watches it bud, bloom, shed its bark, and spread shade below. She notices how the tree seems completely at ease here—dun fog wraps around it, city breezes play in its branches, and grey smoke curls above. There’s a quiet tenderness in the way she observes these small, grimy details. Rather than looking down on the town, the plane-tree appears to love it, as if it has listened to some voice on the wind that others ignore. The speaker clearly shares that affection. Her mood is calm, observant, and filled with a kind of companionable pride—she and the tree both belong to the city, finding life and resilience right where they are.
A London Plane-Tree — Summary
Green is the plane-tree in the square, The other trees are brown; They droop and pine for country air; The plane-tree loves the town.
Here from my garret-pane, I mark The plane-tree bud and blow, Shed her recuperative bark, And spread her shade below.
Among her branches, in and out, The city breezes play; The dun fog wraps her round about; Above, the smoke curls grey.
Others the country take for choice, And hold the town in scorn; But she has listened to the voice On city breezes borne.