I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of ɾobins in her hair;
Upon [C7]whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with ɾain.
Poems are made by fools like [F]me,
But only God can make a tɾee.
