Idyll

Not the wise, quiet pine nor the amorous, blonde oak Nor the tall, pale, lady elm tree, But you, who came invisible in a magic cloak, You, who were the wind, chose me.

I, the white little birch, who had stood alone, serene, Content to listen and to stare — And I never saw your hands that tore my veils of green. Nor your lips that laughed in my hair.

You held me and kissed me, I knew your strength and grace And dreams rose like sap in the spring. I trembled as with buds, but I never saw your face, I only heard you whispering.

So yawning and careless you went on to field and sea, So here I am lonely and still — Oh wind, wind, better to have broken me Than leave me with roots in the hill.