Under the Tree
--Denise Levertov 

Under an orage-tree--
not one especial singular
orange-tree, but one among 

the dark multitude. Recline
there, with a stone winejar 

and the sense
of another dream
concentration would capture--
but it doesn't matter-- 

and the sense of dust on the grass, of infinitesimal
flowers, of
cracks in the earth 

and urgent life
passing there, ants and transparent
winged beings in their intensity
traveling from blade to blade, 

under a modest orange-tree
neither lower nor taller
neither darker-leaved nor aglow
more beneficently 

than the dark multitude
glowing in numberless lanes
the orange-farmer counts, but
not you--recline 

and drink wine--the stone
will keep it cold--with the sense
of life yet to be lived-- rest, rest,
the grass is growing-- 

let the oranges
ripen, ripen above you,
you are living too, one
among the dark multitude--