A woman is a branchy tree

A woman is a branchy tree

And man a singing wind,

And from her branches carelessly

He takes what he can find:

Then wind and man go far away

While winter comes with loneliness,

With cold and rain and slow decay

On woman and on tree till they

Droop to the ground again and be

A withered woman, a withered tree;

While wind and man woo undismayed

Another tree, another maid.