The Beech Tree Fairy

The trunks of Beeches are smooth and grey,
Like tall straight pillars of stone
In great Cathedrals where people pray;
Yet from tiny things they’ve grown.
About their roots is the moss; and wide
Their branches spread, and high;
It seems to us, on the earth who bide,
That their heads are in the sky.

And when Spring is here,
and their leaves appear,
With a silky fringe on each,
Nothing is seen so new and green
As the new young green of Beech.
O the great grey Beech is young, is young,
When, dangling soft and small,
Round balls of bloom from its twigs are hung,
And the sun shines over all.