The high trees are honest folk;

They do not stand so much aloof

Up under heaven’s roof,

Altho they are earth’s fairest cloak.

Their lives are very calm and slow;

They wait for coming things to come,

They wait, they rest, they ponder some

Purpose forgotten long ago

Like quiet folk;

And sometimes I am moved to stroke

Hand-greeting as I pass them near,

And often I am sure I hear

An answer from these stately folk!