The Tree of Heaven

Young foreign-born Ailanthus,

Because he grew so fast,

We scorned his easy daring

And doubted it would last.

But lo, when autumn gathers

And all the woods are old,

He stands in green and salmon,

A glory to behold!

Among the ancient monarchs

His airy tent is spread.

His robe of coronation

Is tasseled rosy red.

With something strange and Eastern,

His height and grace proclaim

His lineage and title

Is that celestial name.

This is the Tree of Heaven,

Which seems to say to us,

“Behold how rife is beauty,

And how victorious!”