balsam fir, Christmas, Christmas tree, fir, holiday, poem, poetry, robert frost, snow, tree, trees, Vermont, winter
I think I’ve established in past posts here that I’m an unabashed tree hugger, which is why I love this little poem, “The Greatest Tree.”
Among its burdened boughs … all white with snow
The stars would seem to twinkle, and to glow;
And at its top …. so lovely in the night,
A great and brilliant star gave out its light.
I’m pairing it with this poem by Robert Frost, one of the Christmas poems I mentioned the other day: “Christmas Trees.” In this short narrative, the country poet describes a city visitor who wants to buy a thousand Christmas trees,
My woods — the young fir balsams like a place
Where houses all are churches and have spires.
(I myself cannot bear to cut down a tree for Christmas… or ever!)