Populus

A bramble whips his face, the tears spring fast, and through the rainbow mist he sees a world that wavers like the flame of a blown candle tears of pain and shame and lips that once had laughed and sung and kissed trembling in the passion of his sobbing breath the world a candle shuddering to its death and life a darkness blind and utterly void of any love or goodness All deceit, this friendship and this God, All shams destroyed, and truth seen now, Earth fails beneath his feet.

Song of Poplars

From The Defeat of Youth and Other Poems by Aldous Huxley.

Read for Libervox.org by Arthur Coleman.

Well, of course we knew Nichols would follow you, Charlotte, but we did hope to have you all to ourselves for more than just a week.

Moaned Nell Morgan as we all sat on the front porch of the Poplars in the warm spring sunlight several mornings after I had told them of Nichols' arrival on Friday, which announcement had come in the midnight telegram.

I winced at the words follow you, and then smiled at the absurdity of the little shudder.

Yes, Nichols will be absorbing, but we can all sit hard on him and perhaps put him in his place.

You can trust him, Mrs. Burns, even with Mikey's legs

And during all the long weeks of activity, not once did I have a word alone with the Harpeth jaguar.

We met constantly at dinner at the tables of our friends, and he came and went at the Poplars with the same freedom that Nichols enjoyed.

He was long hours in the library with Father, and somehow I felt that he was strengthening the structure that he had builded on the ruined foundation, and something passionate rose in my heart and filled it with pain every time I heard his ringing laugh come from the library table, accompanied by Father's booming chuckle.

"Well, of course we knew Nichols would follow you, Charlotte, but we did hope to have you all to ourselves for more than just a week,"

moaned Nell Morgan as we all sat on the front porch of the Poplars in the warm spring sunlight several mornings after I had told them of Nichols' arrival on Friday, which announcement had come in the midnight telegram.

I winced at the words, "Follow you," and then smiled at the absurdity of the little shudder.

"Yes, Nichols will be absorbing, but we can all sit hard on him and perhaps put him in his place,"

That night of Billy's ball for the magnate who was having the time of his grey-headed life under Billy's and Nichols' enthusiastic direction, the strange alien thing that had been developing in my depths, part unrest and part rebellion, since I had first looked into the eyes of the young Methodist parson who had intruded himself and his chapel into my existence, got its death blow.

In my presence Nichols made his formal request of the Reverend Mr. Goodlow to officiate our marriage.

Of course, Greg, old fellow, you are going to marry us next Tuesday, aren't you? asked Nichols as we stood on the steps of the Poplars after dinner, chatting with him as he was leaving to go over to the chapel while we went out to the dance.

I suppose there is some sort of formal way to make the request, but I don't know it.

It's related to all the other poplars, cottonwoods, and aspens.

So the genus Populus has about 35 species.

Most of them, rather all of them, are split into five main groups.

And the group that includes our black cottonwood also includes the narrow-leaf cottonwood and the balsam cottonwood, which is Populus balsifemera, which grows kind of way up in the north along Canada and maybe some bits of the northern United States, essentially northern North America.

Hmm.

So that's the other tree that they thought it was the same tree.

This recording is in the public domain.

Song of Poplars from The Defeat of Youth and Other Poems by Aldous Huxley, read for LibriVox.org by Arthur Coleman.

Shepherd, to yon tall poplars tune your flute.

Let them pierce keenly, subtly shrill, The slow blue rumour of the hill.

Let the grass cry with an anguish of evening gold, And the great sky be mute.

Then hearken how The poplar trees unfold their buds, yet close And gummed and blind, in airy leafage of the mind, Rustling in silvery whispers the twin-hued scales That fade not nor grow old.

Poplars and fountains and you cypress spires Springing in dark and rusty flame, Seek you aught that hath a name? Or say, say, Are you all an upward agony Of undefined desires? Say, are you happy in the golden march of sunlight all across the day? Or do you watch the uncertain way that leads the withering moon on cloudy stairs over the heaven's wide arch? Is it towards sorrow or towards joy you lift the sharpness of your trembling spears? Or do you seek through the gray tears that blur the sky in the heart of the triumphing blue a deeper, calmer rift? So I have tuned my music to the trees, and there are voices dim below their shrillness, voices swelling slow in the blue murmur of hills, and a golden cry, and then vast silences.

End of poem.

For those of you who are wondering what this poplar tree is, let me just explain because it's quite common up here but may not be a familiar tree in your geography.

This tree is called Populus deltoids.

It's commonly called eastern cottonwood or poplar, and it belongs to North America.

It is native to North America, and it was introduced to India from there, and it has now become a pretty important agroforestry tree in Northern India.

All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.

For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Among the Trees at Elmridge by Ella Rodman Church The Poplars The bruised foot was not comfortable to walk on for two or three days, and Edith was settled in the great easy armchair, with dolls and toys and picture books in a pile that seemed as if it would not stop growing until every article belonging to herself and Clara had been gathered there.

"We can go on with our trees," said Miss Harsen, "even if we do not see them just yet.

And this evening, I should like to tell you something about the poplar, a large tree with alternate leaves, which is often found in dusty towns where it seems to flourish as well as in its favorite situation by a running stream.

Far distant from those days, oh, let not man, boastful of reason, check with scornful speech those legends pure.

For who the heart may scan, or say what hallowed thoughts such legends teach to those who may perchance their scant flocks keep on hill or plain, to whom the quivering tree hinteth a thought which, holy, solemn, deep, sinks in the heart, bidding their spirits flee all thoughts of vice, that dread and hateful thing which troubleth of each joy and pure and gushing spring.

End of The Poplars Recording by Lainey Butler, Exton, Pennsylvania, laineybutlervoices.com

Chapter 9 of Among the Trees at Elm Ridge.

Of course, Greg, old fellow, you are going to marry us next Tuesday, aren't you?

Asked Nicole's as we stood on the steps of the Poplars after dinner, chatting with him as he was leaving to go over to the chapel while we went out to the dance.

I suppose there is some sort of formal way to make the request, but I don't know it.

If there is, I don't know it either.

He called Nichols the American wizard of habitations, and amid cheering and clapping hands, announced his intention to have Nichols build the American town on the Hudson.

He called me the heart of the achievement, and father's pride as he looked down the long table at Nichols and me was very wonderful and beautiful, and as great a pride rose in my heart as I saw him lift his glass of water to pledge me, leaving the bubbles breaking in his champagne.

It was very nearly dawn when we all motored home, and it was upon the verge of the crack of day by the time Dabney and Nichols had got the governor and Mr. Jeffries and the other guests settled under the wide roof of the Poplars, which had never hovered a more distinguished or brilliant house party.

For a few quiet minutes after they had all gone to their rooms, Nichols and I stood alone on the front porch in the cool darkness with its hints of the dawn while old Dabney shut up the back part of the house.

So you want the native one, the one, the quaking.

So Populus tremuloides, you want that one here because that's our native aspens.

It's going to perform better.

Exceptional.