Classic Poem

They have their little vanities,
The slender, girlish-supple trees;
They love to watch their mirrored forms
In pools, unruffled by the breeze.

They watch their shadow tracery
Sun-cast in silent woodland glades,
And murmuring as they sleepy sway,
They drift to dreams of lights and shades.

For all of them are Dryad souls,
That lay earth-bound a little time,
Then upward rose: tall maiden trees,
To woo the errant breeze with rhyme.