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The Trees by Philip Larkin

10/6/2008 11:01:19 AM

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Philip Larkin
(1922 - 1985 / England)

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102 poems of Philip Larkin
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The Trees

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

Philip Larkin

Read poems about / on: grief, tree

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10/6/2008 11:01:19 AM. You Are Here: The Trees by Philip Larkin