“I see in the near future
a crisis approaching that unnerves me
and causes me to tremble
for the safety of my country. . . .
Corporations have been enthroned,
an era of corruption in high places will follow,
and the money-power of the country
will endeavor to prolong its reign
by working upon the prejudices
of the people until the wealth
is aggregated in a few hands
and the Republic is destroyed.”
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.