the white magnolia tree

The White Magnolia Tree

The year when I was twenty-one,

(John that year was twenty-three)

That was the year, that was the spring,

We planted the white magnolia tree.

 

“This tree,” said John, “shall grow with us,

And every year it will bloom anew.

This is our life. This is our love.”

And the white magnolia tree grew and grew…

 

Oh, youth’ a thing of fire and ice,

And currents that run hot and white,

And its world is as bright as the sun…

 

I was twenty-one…

And I wore a plume in my hat.

And we went to the movies and wept over” Stella Dallas”,

And John sang “Moonlight and Roses”

(a little off-key, but very nicely really),

 

And we hurried through our crowded days

With beautiful plans, boundless ambitions, and golden decisions.

There is so much the young heart clamors for,

That it must have, and that it cannot live without,

And it must be all or nothing,

For aren’t we the masters of creation?

 

Oh, valiant and untamed were we,

When we planted the white magnolia tree!

And the white magnolia grew and grew,

Holding our love within its core,

And every year it bloomed anew,

And we were twenty-one no more.

 

No more untamed, no more so free,

Nor so young, nor so wild and aflame were we.

Dearer to us grew other things:

Easy sleep, books, a day’s quiet holiday,

Good talk beside a fire, the beauty of old faces…

 

We have known many things since then:

The death of a child and the bitter lesson

That a heart which breaks can mend itself again

(That it can and must be done),

And what loyalty can mean,

And how real a word like courage can become,

And that solitude can be rich and gratifying

And quite different from loneliness…

 

There is so little the serious heart requires:

Friends, faith, a window open to the world,

Pride in work well done,

And strength to live in a world at war

And still maintain the heart’s own private peace…

 

Dear Heaven, I give thanks to thee

For things I did not know before,

For the wisdom of maturity,

For bread, and a roof, and for one thing more…

 

Thanks because I still can see

The bloom on the white magnolia tree!

- Helen Deutsch

The White Magnolia Tree, it’s one of my favourite poems, do you love it too?