Irrevocable

Because it did not yield me shade enough,
Because the time seemed long till fruit should be,
I smote at root my flowering apple-tree:
It was the fairest tree in my scant grove.
And fell with little sound. I watched above
And viewed it where it lay, content to see
My fearful handiwork, and angrily
I shook its boughs, and plucked the leaves thereof, —

Poor leaves that never a deep shadow made.
Yet were so fair! I dropped them, one by one;
And then I wept, for what I cannot say, —
Unless my heart conjectured of some day
"When I should stand alone, and no such shade
Should interpose between me and the sun.