Tree At My Window

Study of the Trunk of an Elm Tree' John Constable,Study of the Trunk of an Elm Tree,  John Constable (1776 – 1837)


Tree At My Window

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.


Robert Frost   (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)


Published in: on March 28, 2014 at 11:19 pm  Comments (5)  
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5 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. Another treasure – thank you so much, Secret Gardener!

  2. I really love this poem you found – it has that inimitable sort of sly suppleness of Robert Frost at his best (or at least, as in some of those I like best) – and the image is so lovely.


    Date: Sat, 29 Mar 2014 06:19:15 +0000 To:

    • You know–This was one of the poems that I had by heart simply because it was in my commonplace book. And because of the lovely pattern. And trees were always it for me. And I was lonely. And young enough to absorb things readily.
      I remember being in the car, with Tom I think, and Dad driving, and saying it aloud just because it was in my head so much, but feeling a little ashamed for doing something that might be considered affected. And that was just one of the tiniest things that bothered me–just a little–for four decades.
      And yesterday I thought, that’s the only time past the age of ten when I did something around my father that I don’t think was awful.
      And he was the one who took care of the trees outside my window.

  3. So moving, the pairing of Constable and Frost on trees a precious and noble element in our lives. I was fortunate to meet and hear the compelling Robert Frost while in boarding school when a trip was arranged to Dartmouth to hear him speak, as if it were yesterday.

    • No way!
      Of course, when I was young he was represented everywhere by two poems that didn’t move me. Then, when I was almost grown, I found that I couldn’t believe how many of his I thought were just about perfect, thrillingly lovely, and very moving.
      I knew someone in Philadelphia who’d been a student of his, and I think maybe his T.A.—-hung out with him anyway–
      a beautiful, old, patrician looking artist almost as tall as a tree himself—But he was very near losing everything he remembered.
      We went to a couple of the free students’ concerts at Curtis together.

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