poet Aldous Huxley

Aldous Huxley

#328 on top 500 poets

The Elms

Fine as the dust of plumy fountains blowing
Across the lanterns of a revelling night,
The tiny leaves of April's earliest growing
Powder the trees- so vaporously light,
They seem to float, billows of emerald foam
Blown by the South on its bright airy tide,
Seeming less trees than things beatified,
Come from the world of thought which was their home.

For a while only. Rooted strong and fast,
Soon will they lift towards the summer sky
Their mountain-mass of clotted greenery.
Their immaterial season quickly past,
They grow opaque, and therefore needs must die,
Since every earth to earth returns at last.

Poem Submitted: Monday, March 3, 2014
Poem Edited: Monday, March 3, 2014

Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings
rate this poem

Comments about The Elms by Aldous Huxley

There is no comment submitted by members..

Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings
rate this poem



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?