Mary Oliver


A Dream Of Trees - Poem by Mary Oliver


The text of this poem could not be published because of Copyright laws.


Comments about A Dream Of Trees by Mary Oliver

  • (4/21/2018 10:44:00 AM)

    Who is reading this Too robotically (Report)Reply

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  • (9/24/2008 8:33:00 PM)

    We all must win the battle we face with accepting our mortality. It is ironically what sets us free. At a certain point we realize we are not invincible. As nice as it would be to live freely as if we were, we know that in the back of our minds denial is eating away at us, eventually giving way to reveal the truth. What we decide to do with our own truth is ultimately our own decision, but the effects of the decision we make means the difference between a truly fufuilling life and a life of desolate meaninglessness. (Report)Reply

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  • Andrew Blakemore (2/3/2008 4:31:00 PM)

    This is a really beautiful poem and has a lovely flow to it. Andrew 10! (Report)Reply

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  • (9/27/2007 1:24:00 PM)

    My friend sent me this thinking I would like it. She thought right. I got a great kick out of reading some of the comments by people that can't get enough of hearing themselves talk.Anyway, thank-you for this I enjoyed it immensley. mikey (Report)Reply

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  • (9/14/2007 9:25:00 AM)

    Just beautiful, killer final line. (Report)Reply

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  • (1/4/2007 2:49:00 PM)

    I really loved this poem of yours, well put together and nicely written. (Report)Reply

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  • (11/25/2006 6:26:00 PM)

    i lyk this poem a dream of trees, i lyk your imagination, pleaz read some of my poems are they good? thanks (Report)Reply

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  • (11/9/2006 6:24:00 AM)

    An exquisite poem by all means!
    Is Mary suggesting in her subtle yet poignant way the mediocrity of artistic expression-the intellectual and emotional lethargy of poets that restricts the literary
    piece from reaching its full potential? The use of the word 'homesick' suggests the
    compelling lethargy plaguing the poets almost like an obsession.
    (Report)Reply

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  • (3/20/2006 8:59:00 AM)

    This is an interesting poem for Mary does so often make music of a mild day, of days with no political or social import save that of knowing and owning our place within the breathing earth. And that of course is ultimately more important than all. It has been tempting to think she has found a way to live in that place of wildness where the sun is the only king so we can vicariously dabble at its edges. But here there is a balance, a foil to that indulgence or innocence, a need to feel and respond to the wounds of our time. (Report)Reply

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Read poems about / on: music, house, green, death, time, world, dream, heart, school, tree



Poem Submitted: Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Poem Edited: Thursday, August 28, 2014


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