The Trees, by Philip Larkin

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

by Philip Larkin (1922-1985)

One Response to “The Trees, by Philip Larkin”

  1. Charles Says:

    Reading your blog injects a well-needed dose of culture into my life, particularly so at the moment as the libraries are all shut.I could have looked up Larkin poems online ,though I wouldn’t know where to start, apart from the obvious one about your parents (I don’t necessarily mean your parents, Peter !) Thank you.

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