‘The Trees’ by Philip Larkin begins
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
You can read the whole poem here – and hear the author reading it too.
It’s a pity that Larkin is usually remembered as a miserable old git (or worse). He wrote celebratory poems too. He didn’t like reading to an audience, as he sometimes stammered. But a sound engineer of some sort persuaded him to record a whole batch of poems in a very relaxed space.
