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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE UPAS TREE, by                    
First Line: I have it growing in my garden now
Last Line: And drop off quickly to contented sleep.
Subject(s): Poisons And Poisoning; Upas Trees


I have it growing in my garden now.
I brought the seed, I shall not tell you whence,
Some seven years ago, and watched it well.
There was a battle! All the enemies
That mar young lilies, or disturb the rose --
All beetles, moles and ants, all slugs and birds,
Seemed charged with a commission to destroy
My impious planting; urgent orders, too,
Not to lose time, but damage while they might,
As if the Lord of vermin and of flies
Well knew that, once my tree was sapling size,
Once it began to feel ancestral strength,
It could throw off all such attacks with ease.
There were high winds; I had to shelter it,
For even when the whole broad day was still,
A dust-whirl would come tearing through my grounds
And fall upon my upas. Lightning, too;
I lost one branch before I had the wit
To place the lightning-rod that still stands guard.
Now seven years are out, my tree is strong,
And, bar the lightning, fit to guard itself.
Since it has stood so high and spread so wide,
It does not grow with such unmeasured haste,
As if the tree had understood its need
To get beyond attack, and then were pleased
To take its further growth with dignity.
Look through this window; see that dark green crown,
So smooth and round, like a trimmed hedge or shrub --
Yet it needs no such care, it trims itself.
The loss of that one branch the lightning took
Is perfectly repaired. So, I am envied;
The neighbors, in their kindly innocence,
Insist so fine a tree was never seen,
All unsuspecting what a tree it is --
Which if they knew, they'd run me out of town,
And get the aldermen to have it cut.
I give them a long Latin name instead,
Which has no meaning, but it pleases them.
Often and often they will beg of me
Some slip or cutting -- for it bears no seed,
No flowers yet; the tree is yet too young.
I have some years to wait for upas fruit.
When first they tried to grow my tree from slips
I had cold chills -- I really like my neighbors;
But soon I understood I need not fear.
They lack in patience and in eagerness.
The moles and ants took care of them at first;
Later they grew more careful, but some chance,
Stray dog or careless urchin, or in winter
An unexpected series of hot days,
Destroyed their work, and I grew confident.
The adversaries who cost me such pains
Are still alert, and will not easily
Permit whoever cares to grow the upas.
I like my neighbors -- but my own fine tree,
Are they so safe from that? Oh, perfectly.
I know those tales that say the tree drops poison,
That nothing lives with it. It is not so.
Even the birds will sometimes nest in it;
It does not harm them, but the shade is thick,
So thick that I have had to give up grass,
And grow cold violets, ferns, and other plants
That do not care for sun, beneath my tree.
Do not misunderstand; I did not say
The whole tale is a myth. Far from it, friend.
Were you to go out under that cool shade,
And let the quiet, and the grateful scent
That hangs about the tree, put you to sleep,
I soon would be embarrassed by the need
To call a coroner. The tree is deadly,
But only in that way. The death is pleasant;
One goes by way of calm and cheerful dreams
Across the boundary of this our world.
Therefore I have the tree. It is my strength.
When others press upon me, when they curse
And shout their condemnations in my ear,
Or when they sneak in darkness to destroy
Something that I have worked for, like this tree --
Or when for no apparent fault of mine
My world turns dusty like an unswept floor --
At such times I fall back upon the sense
That I need take this only if I choose,
That in this well-kept garden plot of mine
The upas stands ready to care for me,
Serving me better than I have served it.
I think at length, if I grow old and weak,
And age has not that golden afterglow
That comes to few, I shall go forth some night,
Stretch out my tired bones beneath those leaves,
And drop off quickly to contented sleep.





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