How will the legend of the age of trees br Feel, when the last tree falls in England? br When the concrete spreads and the town conquers br The country’s heart; when contraceptive br Tarmac’s laid where farm has faded, br Tramline flows where slept a hamlet, br And shop-fronts, blazing without a stop from br Dover to Wrath, have glazed us over? br Simplest tales will then bewilder br The questioning children, “What was a chestnut? br Say what it means to climb a Beanstalk, br Tell me, grandfather, what an elm is. br What was Autumn? They never taught us.” br Then, told by teachers how once from mould br Came growing creatures of lower nature br Able to live and die, though neither br Beast nor man, and around them wreathing br Excellent clothing, breathing sunlight – br Half understanding, their ill-acquainted br Fancy will tint their wonder-paintings br Trees as men walking, wood-romances br Of goblins stalking in silky green, br Of milk-sheen froth upon the lace of hawthorn’s br Collar, pallor in the face of birchgirl. br So shall a homeless time, though dimly br Catch from afar (for soul is watchfull) br A sight of tree-delighted Eden.