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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=367935" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Tree Telling of Orpheus</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=367935" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">White dawn. Stillness.When the rippling began<br>      &nbs p;   I took it for sea-wind, coming to our valley with rumors<br>      &nb sp;   of salt, of treeless horizons. But the white fog<br>didn't stir; the leaves of my brothers remained outstretched,<br>unmoving.<br>   & nbsp;       &n bsp;       &nb sp;Yet the rippling drew nearer – and then<br>my own outermost branches began to tingle, almost as if<br>fire had been lit below them, too close, and their twig-tips<br>were drying and curling.<br>      & nbsp;       &n bsp;       &nb sp;       Yet I was not afraid, only<br>        ;                 & nbsp;      deeply alert.<br>I was the first to see him, for I grew<br>        ;              out on the pasture slope, beyond the forest.<br>He was a man, it seemed: the two<br>moving stems, the short trunk, the two<br>arm-branches, flexible, each with five leafless<br>      & nbsp;       &n bsp;       &nb sp;       &nbs p;         ; twigs at their ends,<br>and the head that's crowned by brown or golden grass,<br>bearing a face not like the beaked face of a bird,<br>      &nbs p;         ;     more like a flower's.<br>               & nbsp;       &n bsp;       He carried a burden made of<br>some cut branch bent while it was green,<br>strands of a vine tight-stretched across it. From this,<br>when he touched it, and from his voice<br>which unlike the wind's voice had no need of our<br>leaves and branches to complete its sound,<br>      &nb sp;       &nbs p;         ;                 & nbsp;came the ripple.<br>But it was now no longer a ripple (he had come near and <br>stopped in my first shadow) it was a wave that bathed me<br>       & nbsp;       &n bsp;    as if rain<br>        ;                 & nbsp;      rose from below and around me<br>       & nbsp;       &n bsp;    instead of falling.<br>And what I felt was no longer a dry tingling:<br>               & nbsp;     I seemed to be singing as he sang, I seemed to know<br>        ;              what the lark knows; all my sap<br>                & nbsp;       &n bsp;      was mounting towards the sun that by now<br>                & nbsp;       &n bsp;      had risen, the mist was rising, the grass<br>was drying, yet my roots felt music moisten them<br>deep under earth.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=367935" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">       ;               He came still closer, leaned on my trunk:<br>      &nb sp;       &nbs p;     the bark thrilled like a leaf still-folded.<br>Music! There was no twig of me not<br>                & nbsp;       &n bsp;      trembling with joy and fear.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=367935" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Then as he sang<br>it was no longer sounds only that made the music:<br>he spoke, and as no tree listens I listened, and language<br>      & nbsp;       &n bsp;     came into my roots<br>      &nbs p;         ;                out of the earth,<br>      &nb sp;       &nbs p;     into my bark<br>        ;                 & nbsp;      out of the air,<br>into the pores of my greenest shoots<br>      &nb sp;   gently as dew<br>and there was no word he sang but I knew its meaning.<br>He told me of journeys,<br>           of where sun and moon go while we stand in dark,<br>      &nbs p;   of an earth-journey he dreamed he would take some day<br>deeper than roots ...<br>He told of the dreams of man, wars, passions, griefs,<br>      &n bsp;   and I, a tree, understood words – ah, it seemed<br>my thick bark would split like a sapling's that<br>        ;                 & nbsp;      grew too fast in the spring<br>when a late frost wounds it.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=367935" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">      &n bsp;       &nb sp;       &nbs p;         ;          Fire he sang,<br>that trees fear, and I, a tree, rejoiced in its flames.<br>New buds broke forth from me though it was full summer.<br>      &n bsp;   As though his lyre (now I knew its name)<br>      &nbs p;   were both frost and fire, its chords flamed<br>up to the crown of me.<br>           I was seed again.<br>      &nb sp;       &nbs p;     I was fern in the swamp.<br>      &nb sp;       &nbs p;         ;                 & nbsp;I was coal.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Denise+Levertov">Denise Levertov</a></strong></div>

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