Canadian Poets
by Shara.Buchan
Isabella Valancy Crawford 1850-1887 The City Tree I stand within the stony, arid town, I gaze for ever on the narrow street; I hear for ever passing up and down, The ceasless tramp of feet. I know no brotherhood with far-lock'd woods, Where branches burgeon from a kindred sap: Where o'er moss'd roots, in cool, green solitudes, Small silver brooklets lap. No em'rald vines creep wistfully to me, And lay their tender fingers on my bark; High may I tos my boughs, yet never see Dawn's first most glorious spark. When to and fro my branches wave and sway, Answ'ring the feeble wind that faintly calls, They kiss no kindred boughs but touch alway The stones of climbing walls. My heart is never pierc'd with song of bird; My leaves know nothing of the glad unrest, Which makes a flutter in the still woods heard, When wild birds build a nest. There never glance they eyes of violets up, Blue...