Things That Grow

I like things with roots that know the earth, Trees whose feet, nimble and brown, Wander around in the house of their birth Until they learn, by growing down, To build with branches in the air; Ivy-vines that have known the loam And over trellis and rustic stair, Or old grey houses, love to roam; And flowers pushing vehement heads, Like flames from a fire's hidden glow, Through the seething soil in garden-beds. Yet I, who am forbidden to know The feel of earth, once thought to make Singing out of a heart's old cry! Untaught by earth how could I wake The shining interest of the sky?