A Dream Of Trees

There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories, schools, laments.
I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,
With only streams and birds for company.
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere.

There is a thing in me still dreams of trees,
But let it go. Homesick for moderation,
Half the world’s artists shrink or fall away.
If any find solution, let him tell it.
Meanwhile I bend my heart toward lamentation
Where, as the times implore our true involvement,
The blades of every crisis point the way.

I would it were not so, but so it is.
Who ever made music of a mild day?

by Mary Oliver

Other poems of OLIVER (91)

Comments (13)

I liked it, it was really good
Very Touching poem.... Can a death snatch away the eternal soul Longing to die in beloved's arm Resting head on thy breast Bidding goodbye to beloved's heart Before going on eternal sleep! ..........Loved reading it.
Very emotional. Casually I looked at poetess's time line. She had a very short life. Thirty three years! She had all the love in the world but no time or energy to give back or enjoy what was once so wonderful. May be some illness. But she sure left the legacy of this beautiful poem for us.
How does a bird with a broken wing fly away? Metaphor doesn't work.
Is a man truely in love and appreciate what he has but in as much as he would love to remain he has to leave and that truely hurt him to see himself walk away from who he love his left shall cause pain and doesnt want to lose a bit of it.
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