WISH IN SPRING
Reading edition
To-day I wish that I were a tree, And not myself, Confronting spring with a neat little row of poems Like cups and saucers on a shelf. For then I should have poems innumerable, One kissing the other; Authentic, perfect in shape and lovely variety, And all of the same tireless green colour. No one would think it unnatural Or question my right; All day I would wave them above the heads of people, And sing them to myself all night. But as I am only a woman And not a tree, With piteous human care I have made this poem, And set it now on the shelf with the rest to be.