Over the past week or so, the sound of the trees has become appreciably louder. The leaves are rapidly
drying and the insistent autumn winds sound even louder with the rattling of the leaves.
The Sound of the Trees
by Robert Frost (from Mountain Interval)
I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.
Found in Early Frost: The First Three Books [811.52 FRO]
For me, the sound of trees is entrancing. It doesn't engender thoughts of going or staying (whether we acknowledge it or not, we're all going in the end). I am merely one who has "acquire[d] a listening air" and I'll "bear" it year after year.
Speaking of bears, head over to Jama's Alphabet Soup where Mr. Cornelius, one very bearable bear, is waiting to introduce you to even more delicious poetry!