There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories, schools, laments.
I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,
With only streams and birds for company.
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere.

There is a thing in me still dreams of trees,
But let it go. Homesick for moderation,
Half the world’s artists shrink or fall away.
If any find solution, let him tell it.
Meanwhile I bend my heart toward lamentation
Where, as the times implore our true involvement,
The blades of every crisis point the way.

I would it were not so, but so it is.
Who ever made music of a mild day?

Mary Oliver, A Dream Of Trees (via memoriesfadexx)

(via to-be-and-to-belong)

#quote  #poetry  #poem  #artist  #dreams  #trees  #world  #life  #beauty  #death  #mary oliver  
∞  February 23, 2012
17 notes
via memoriesfadexx
  1. madkao reblogged this from potluckdream3r
  2. thedistantbird reblogged this from potluckdream3r
  3. sexdrugs-wanderlust reblogged this from potluckdream3r
  4. potluckdream3r reblogged this from to-be-and-to-belong
  5. to-be-and-to-belong reblogged this from memoriesfadexx
  6. idreamoftrees reblogged this from memoriesfadexx
  7. memoriesfadexx posted this