I think that I shall never see

   A poem lovely as a tree.

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A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

   Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

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A tree that looks at God all day,

   and lifts her leafy arms to pray;

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A tree that may in Summer wear

   A nest of robins in her hair;

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Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

   Who intimately lives with rain.

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Poems are made by fools like me,

   But only God can make a tree.