25 Poems About Trees to Inspire You - Tree Poems

25 Poems About Trees to Inspire You - Tree Poems

Without trees, there are no fine means for life on earth. Every living creature is affected by the health of the world’s population. Trees influence everything from the environment to our physical and mental health. As the world’s tree population decreases, delay and unawareness are no longer practical options concerning the forest and urban tree population.

In this article, we at Nelda present some poems about trees that inspire us to know the importance of trees in a forest and urban settings for the wildlife, environment, and human health.

 

Trees - by Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

 

The Sound of the Trees - by Robert Frost 

I wonder about the trees.

Why do we wish to bear

Forever the noise of these

More than another noise

So close to our dwelling place?

We suffer them by the day

Till we lose all measure of pace,

And fixity in our joys,

And acquire a listening air.

They are that that talks of going      

But never gets away;

And that talks no less for knowing,

As it grows wiser and older,

That now it means to stay.

My feet tug at the floor

And my head sways to my shoulder

Sometimes when I watch trees sway,

From the window or the door.

I shall set forth for somewhere,

I shall make the reckless choice

Some day when they are in voice

And tossing so as to scare

The white clouds over them on.

I shall have less to say,

But I shall be gone.

 

When Autumn Came - by Faiz Ahmed Faiz

This is the way that autumn came to the trees:

it stripped them down to the skin,

left their ebony bodies naked.

It shook out their hearts, the yellow leaves,

scattered them over the ground.

Anyone could trample them out of shape

undisturbed by a single moan of protest.

The birds that herald dreams

were exiled from their song,

each voice torn out of its throat.

They dropped into the dust

even before the hunter strung his bow.

Oh, God of May have mercy.

Bless these withered bodies

with the passion of your resurrection;

make their dead veins flow with blood again.

Give some tree the gift of green again.

Let one bird sing.

 

Loveliest of Trees - A.E. Housman

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now

Is hung with bloom along the bough,

And stands about the woodland ride

Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,

Twenty will not come again,

And take from seventy springs a score,

It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom

Fifty springs are little room,

About the woodlands I will go

To see the cherry hung with snow.

 

The Friendly Tree - by Annette Wynne

I've found a place beside a friendly tree,

Where I'll hide my face when the world hurts me,

For the tree will never hurt; I shall love it to the end;

It shall have a dear, dear name:

"My true and silent friend."

 

Tree at my Window - by Robert Frost

Tree at my window, window tree,

My sash is lowered when night comes on;

But let there never be curtain drawn

Between you and me.

Vague dream head lifted out of the ground,

And thing next most diffuse to cloud,

Not all your light tongues talking aloud

Could be profound.

But tree, I have seen you taken and tossed,

And if you have seen me when I slept,

You have seen me when I was taken and swept

And all but lost.

That day she put our heads together,

Fate had her imagination about her,

Your head so much concerned with outer,

Mine with inner, weather.

 

Under the Greenwood Tree - by William Shakespeare 

Under the greenwood tree

Who loves to lie with me,

And turn his merry note

Unto the sweet bird’s throat,

Come hither, come hither, come hither:

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

Who doth ambition shun,

And loves to live i’ the sun,

Seeking the food he eats,

And pleas’d with what he gets,

Come hither, come hither, come hither:

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

 

A Poison Tree - by William Blake 

I was angry with my friend:

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe:

I told it not, my wrath did grow

And I watered it in fears

Night and morning with my tears,

And I sunned it with smiles

And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,

Till it bore an apple bright,

And my foe beheld it shine,

And he knew that it was mine,--

And into my garden stole

When the night had veiled the pole;

In the morning, glad, I see

My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

 

The Two Trees - by William Butler Yeats 

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart,

The holy tree is growing there;

From joy the holy branches start,

And all the trembling flowers they bear.

The changing colours of its fruit

Have dowered the stars with merry light;

The surety of its hidden root

Has planted quiet in the night;

The shaking of its leafy head

Has given the waves their melody,

And made my lips and music wed,

Murmuring a wizard song for thee.

There the Loves a circle go,

The flaming circle of our days,

Gyring, spiring to and fro

In those great ignorant leafy ways;

Remembering all that shaken hair

And how the wingèd sandals dart,

Thine eyes grow full of tender care:

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.

Gaze no more in the bitter glass

The demons, with their subtle guile,

Lift up before us when they pass,

Or only gaze a little while;

For there a fatal image grows

That the stormy night receives,

Roots half hidden under snows,

Broken boughs and blackened leaves.

For all things turn to barrenness

In the dim glass the demons hold,

The glass of outer weariness,

Made when God slept in times of old.

There, through the broken branches, go

The ravens of unresting thought;

Flying, crying, to and fro,

Cruel claw and hungry throat,

Or else they stand and sniff the wind,

And shake their ragged wings; alas!

Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:

Gaze no more in the bitter glass.

 

The Mahogany Tree - by William Makepeace Thackery 

Christmas is here;

Winds whistle shrill,

Icy and chill,

Little care we;

Little we fear

Weather without,

Shelter'd about

The Mahogany Tree.

Once on the boughs

Birds of rare plume

Sang, in its bloom;

Night birds are we;

Here we carouse,

Singing, like them,

Perch'd round the stem

Of the jolly old tree.

Here let us sport,

Boys, as we sit—

Laughter and wit

Flashing so free.

Life is but short—

When we are gone,

Let them sing on,

Round the old tree.

Evenings we knew,

Happy as this;

Faces we miss,

Pleasant to see.

Kind hearts and true,

Gentle and just,

Peace to your dust!

We sing round the tree.

Care, like a dun,

Lurks at the gate:

Let the dog wait;

Happy we 'll be!

Drink every one;

Pile up the coals,

Fill the red bowls,

Round the old tree.

Drain we the cup.—

Friend, art afraid?

Spirits are laid

In the Red Sea.

Mantle it up;

Empty it yet;

Let us forget,

Round the old tree.

Sorrows, begone!

Life and its ills,

Duns and their bills,

Bid we to flee.

Come with the dawn,

Blue-devil sprite,

Leave us to-night,

Round the old tree.

 

Polar Trees are Happiest  - by John Russell McCarthy

Poplar trees are laughing trees,

With lilting silver call.

Willow trees droop weepingly

And never laugh at all.

Maple trees are gorgeous trees

In crimson silks and gold;

Pine trees are but sober trees,

Aloof and very old.

Black-oak trees walk sturdily,

And live oaks eager run;

The sycamores stand lazily

Beneath the summer sun.

But poplar trees are laughing trees

Wherever they may grow—

The poplar trees are happiest

Of all the trees I know.

 

To Autumn - by John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

 

Song of the Trees - by Mary Colborne-Veel

We are the Trees.  

  Our dark and leafy glade  

Bands the bright earth with softer mysteries.  

Beneath us changed and tamed the seasons run:  

In burning zones, we build against the sun         

  Long centuries of shade.  

We are the Trees,  

  Who grow for man’s desire,  

Heat in our faithful hearts, and fruits that please.  

Dwelling beneath our tents, he lightly gains         

The few sufficiencies his life attains—  

  Shelter, and food, and fire.  

We are the Trees  

  That by great waters stand,  

By rills that murmur to our murmuring bees.         

And where, in tracts all desolate and waste,  

The palm-foot stays, man follows on, to taste  

  Springs in the desert sand.  

We are the Trees  

  Who travel where he goes

Over the vast, inhuman, wandering seas.  

His tutors we, in that adventure brave—  

He launched with us upon the untried wave,  

  And now its mastery knows.  

We are the Trees

  Who bear him company  

In life and death. His happy sylvan ease  

He wins through us; through us, his cities spread  

That like a forest guard his unfenced head  

  ’Gainst storm and bitter sky.

We are the Trees.  

  On us the dying rest  

Their strange, sad eyes, in farewell messages.  

And we, his comrades still, since earth began,  

Wave mournful boughs above the grave of man,          

  And coffin his cold breast.

 

The Oak - by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Live thy Life,

Young and old,

Like yon oak,

Bright in spring,

Living gold;

Summer-rich

Then; and then

Autumn-changed

Soberer-hued

Gold again.

All his leaves

Fall’n at length,

Look, he stands,

Trunk and bough

Naked strength.

 

The Shepherd's Tree - by John Clare 

Huge elm, with rifted trunk all notched and scarred,

Like to a warrior's destiny! I love

To stretch me often on thy shadowed sward,

And hear the laugh of summer leaves above;

Or on thy buttressed roots to sit, and lean

In careless attitude, and there reflect

On times and deeds and darings that have been —

Old castaways, now swallowed in neglect, —

While thou art towering in thy strength of heart,

Stirring the soul to vain imaginings

In which life's sordid being hath no part.

The wind of that eternal ditty sings,

Humming of future things, that burn the mind

To leave some fragment of itself behind.

 

Friendly Tree, This Is Your Day - by Annette Wynne

Friendly tree, this is your day,

So we'll stop our work and play

And talk of you,

And all the good things that you do.

Standing still and quiet there,

Sending branches into air,

Making pleasant shade around,

Delving far beneath the ground,

Holding all year safe from harm

Little nests within your arm,

Keeping firmly where you are,

Reaching up to touch a star,

Growing, working, just as I,

Seeking God within the sky.

 

Birches - by Robert Frost 

When I see birches bend to left and right

Across the lines of straighter darker trees,

I like to think some boy's been swinging them.

But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay

As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them

Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning

After a rain. They click upon themselves

As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored

As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.

Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells

Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust--

Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away

You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.

They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,

And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed

So low for long, they never right themselves:

You may see their trunks arching in the woods

Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground

Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair

Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.

But I was going to say when Truth broke in

With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm

I should prefer to have some boy bend them

As he went out and in to fetch the cows--

Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,

Whose only play was what he found himself,

Summer or winter, and could play alone.

One by one he subdued his father's trees

By riding them down over and over again

Until he took the stiffness out of them,

And not one but hung limp, not one was left

For him to conquer. He learned all there was

To learn about not launching out too soon

And so not carrying the tree away

Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise

To the top branches, climbing carefully

With the same pains you use to fill a cup

Up to the brim, and even above the brim.

Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,

Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.

So was I once myself a swinger of birches.

And so I dream of going back to be.

It's when I'm weary of considerations,

And life is too much like a pathless wood

Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs

Broken across it, and one eye is weeping

From a twig's having lashed across it open.

I'd like to get away from earth awhile

And then come back to it and begin over.

May no fate willfully misunderstand me

And half grant what I wish and snatch me away

Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:

I don't know where it's likely to go better.

I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,

And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk

Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,

But dipped its top and set me down again.

That would be good both going and coming back.

One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

 

The Tree of Heaven - by Bliss Carman 

Young foreign-born Ailanthus,

Because he grew so fast,

We scorned his easy daring

And doubted it would last.

But lo, when autumn gathers

And all the woods are old,

He stands in green and salmon,

A glory to behold!

Among the ancient monarchs

His airy tent is spread.

His robe of coronation

Is tasseled rosy red.

With something strange and Eastern,

His height and grace proclaim

His lineage and title

Is that celestial name.

This is the Tree of Heaven,

Which seems to say to us,

"Behold how rife is beauty,

And how victorious!"

 

Cedars - by Grace Hazard Conkling

They are so dark, the cedars,

They keep so still a house!

Muffled in purple silence

They fold their brooding boughs.

Yet they are shaped like music

When the heart listens most!

They are the wind's grave gesture,

The singing river's ghost,

And twilight in their branches

Is murmurous and cool,

Like strings of water falling

Into a waiting pool.

 

The Banyan Tree - by Rabindranath Tagore

O you shaggy-headed banyan tree standing on the bank of the pond,

have you forgotten the little chile, like the birds that have

nested in your branches and left you?

Do you not remember how he sat at the window and wondered at

the tangle of your roots and plunged underground?

The women would come to fill their jars in the pond, and your

huge black shadow would wriggle on the water like sleep struggling

to wake up.

Sunlight danced on the ripples like restless tiny shuttles

weaving golden tapestry.

Two ducks swam by the weedy margin above their shadows, and

the child would sit still and think.

He longed to be the wind and blow through your resting

branches, to be your shadow and lengthen with the day on the water,

to be a bird and perch on your topmost twig, and to float like

those ducks among the weeds and shadows.

 

Pear Tree - by Hilda Doolittle

Silver dust

lifted from the earth,

higher than my arms reach,

you have mounted.

O silver,

higher than my arms reach

you front us with great mass;

no flower ever opened

so staunch a white leaf,

no flower ever parted silver

from such rare silver;

O white pear,

your flower-tufts,

thick on the branch,

bring summer and ripe fruits

in their purple hearts.

 

Pine Trees and the Sky: Evening – by Rupert Brooke 

I'd watched the sorrow of the evening sky,

And smelt the sea, and earth, and the warm clover,

And heard the waves, and the seagull's mocking cry.

And in them all was only the old cry,

That song they always sing -- "The best is over!

You may remember now, and think, and sigh,

O silly lover!"

And I was tired and sick that all was over,

And because I,

For all my thinking, never could recover

One moment of the good hours that were over.

And I was sorry and sick, and wished to die.

Then from the sad west turning wearily,

I saw the pines against the white north sky,

Very beautiful, and still, and bending over

Their sharp black heads against a quiet sky.

And there was peace in them; and I

Was happy, and forgot to play the lover,

And laughed, and did no longer wish to die;

Being glad of you, O pine-trees and the sky!

 

Tree and Sky -  by Siegfried Sassoon 

Let my soul, a shining tree,

Silver branches lift towards thee,

Where on a hallowed winter’s night

The clear-eyed angels may alight.

And if there should be tempests in

My spirit, let them surge like din

Of noble melodies at war;

With fervour of such blades of triumph as are

Flashed in white orisons of saints who go

On shafts of glory to the ecstasies they know.

 

Go Plant A Tree – by Ella Wheeler Wilcox 

God, what a joy it is to plant a tree,

And from the sallow earth to watch it rise,

Lifting its emerald branches to the skies

In silent adoration; and to see

Its strength and glory waxing with each spring.

Yes, 'tis a goodly, and a gladsome thing

To plant a tree.

Nature has many marvels; but a tree

Seems more than marvellous. It is divine.

So generous, so tender, so benign.

Not garrulous like the rivers; and yet free

In pleasant converse with the winds and birds;

Oh! privilege beyond explaining words,

To plant a tree.

Rocks are majestic; but, unlike a tree,

They stand aloof, and silent. In the roar

Of ocean billows breaking on the shore

There sounds the voice of turmoil. But a tree

Speaks ever of companionship and rest.

Yea, of all righteous acts, this, this is best,

To plant a tree.

There is an oak (oh! how I love that tree)

Which has been thriving for a hundred years;

Each day I send my blessing through the spheres

To one who gave this triple boon to me,

Of growing beauty, singing birds, and shade.

Wouldst thou win laurels that shall never fade?

 

City Trees – by Edna St. Vincent Millay

The trees along this city street,

Save for the traffic and the trains,

Would make a sound as thin and sweet

As trees in country lanes.

And people standing in their shade

Out of a shower, undoubtedly

Would hear such music as is made

Upon a country tree.

Oh, little leaves that are so dumb

Against the shrieking city air,

I watch you when the wind has come,—

I know what sound is there.

 

Looking for the right place to find inspiration? And do something that will actually make a difference in society? Well, you need not see beyond Nelda!

Synonymous to champion, Nelda Foundation is an NGO working relentlessly and devotedly towards preserving the environment, specifically regarding the scarcity of trees. We believe that each one of us needs to take responsibility for the environment and work towards making it a better place to live.

If you or your company wishes to do a tree plantation in Pune, Nelda can be your best companion. With our powerful experience and robustness for the initiative, anything can be possible. With our army of volunteers and years of experience, we can work together to make your plantation drive in Pune successful.

You can either donate saplings to Nelda to be planted in Pune or join us with your team to run your own tree plantation drive. Our aim is to help people plant and grow a billion trees in India in 25 years. Join us to make this world a greener place.