Pruning Flowering Gums

One summer day, along the street, Men pruned the gums To make them neat. The tender branches, white with flowers, Lay in the sun For hours and hours, And every hour they grew more sweet, More honey-like Until the street Smelt like a hive, withouten bees. But still the gardeners Lopped the trees. Then came the children out of school, Noisy and separate As their rule Of being is. The spangled trees Gave them one heart: Such power to please Had all the flowering branches strown Around for them To make their own. Then such a murmuring arose As made the ears Confirm the nose And give the lie to eyes. For hours Child bees hummed In the honey flowers. They gathered sprigs and armfuls. Some Ran with their fragrant Burdens home, And still returned; and after them Would drag great boughs. Some stripped a stem Of rosy flowers and played with these. Never such love Had earthly trees As these young creatures gave. By night, The treasured sprays Of their delight Were garnered every one. The street Looked, as the council liked it, neat.