| Description | Dial, The 2, LXXX (Feb 1926): p119. “The Ailanthus” [Note: This poem was printed on p105 of Langridge's bibliography.] The Ailanthus is my tree. Her buds are jets/ Of greenish fire that float upon the air./ They set my feet upon a Fosse-way, where/ Old Mills turn mossy wheels and wide sunsets/ Redden the outstretched wings the heron wets/ In old ponds that the day and darkness share./ Candles they are, that on a wayside bare
Re-gather what the human heart forgets./ Green lamps they are, whose life-sap sweet and strong/ Brims from most brittle and most tender wood./ They leave their dusty branches. They float over/ The houses and the roofs, a wild-goose throng./ High up they fly, a thin, free multitude,/ Leaving their earth, their roots, their twigs, their lover!
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