plane tree

Green is the plane tree in the square,

The other trees are brown;

They droop and pine for country air;

The plane tree loves the town

Here from my garret, I mark

The plane tree grow and blow,

Shed her recuperative bark,

And spread her shade below.

Among her branches, in and out,

The city breezes play;

The dun fog wraps her round about;

Above, the smoke covers grey.

Others the country take for choice,

And hold the town in scorn;

But she has listened to the voice

On city breezes borne.