The Trees Are Down

and he cried with a loud voice:

Hurt not the earth, neither the sea, nor the trees - Revelation They are cutting down the great plane-trees at the end of         the gardens.

For days there has been the grate of the saw, the swish of         the branches as they fall,

The crash of the trunks, the rustle of trodden leaves,

With the 'Whoops' and the 'Whoa', the loud common talk,         the loud common laughs of the men, above it all.

I remember one evening of a long past

Turning in at a gate, getting out of a cart, and finding         a large dead rat in the mud of the drive.

I remember thinking: alive or dead, a rat was a         god-forsaken thing,

But at least, in May, that even a rat should be alive.

The week's work here is as good as done.

There is just         one

On the roped bole, in the fine grey rain,         Green and high         And lonely against the sky.                    (Down now! -)         And but for that,         If an old dead

Did once, for a moment, unmake the Spring,

I might never         have thought of him again.

It is not for a moment the Spring is unmade to-day;

These were great trees, it was in them from root to stem:

When the men with the 'Whoops' and the 'Whoas' have carted         the whole of the whispering loveliness

Half the Spring, for me, will have gone with them.

It is going now, and my heart has been struck with the         hearts of the planes;

Half my life it has beat with these, in the sun, in the rains,         In the March wind, the May breeze,

In the great gales that came over to them across the roofs from the great seas.         There was only a quiet rain when they were dying;         They must have heard the sparrows flying,

And the small creeping creatures in the earth where they were lying -         But I, all day,

I heard an angel crying:          'Hurt not the trees.'