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