The Watcher (Hope)
The Watcher, by A. D. (Alec Derwent) Hope (1907-2000)
Can the tree that grows in grief
Rooted in its own despair
Crown its head with bud and leaf,
Blossom and enrich the air?
Can the bird that on the bough
Tries the ripeness of the fruit,
Taste the agony below,
Know the worm that cuts the root?
In a dream I saw my tree
Clothed in paradisal white,
Every branch in ecstasy
Spread its odors on the night;
Lovers walking two and two
Felt their own delight expressed,
And the bird that thither flew
Chose its branches for her nest;
Children in a laughing tide
Thronged it round to taste and see;
“See the shining fruit” they cried,
“See the happy, blossoming tree!”
You alone among them there
Came with your divining heart,
Breathed that still, enchanted air,
Felt your tears in anguish start,
And the passion of your woe
At the sweetness of the fruit
Watered all the ground below,
Touched and healed the wounded root.
Then the bird among the leaves
Checked its song in sad surmise;
Then the lover saw what grieves
In the depths of human eyes;
But the children at your side
Took your hands and laughed to see
“O the shining fruit!” they cried,
“O the happy, happy tree!”