The Sound of the Trees

I WONDER about the trees.   
Why do we wish to bear   
Forever the noise of these   
More than another noise   
So close to our dwelling place?            
We suffer them by the day   
Till we lose all measure of pace,   
And fixity in our joys,   
And acquire a listening air.
   
They are that that talks of going            
But never gets away;   
And that talks no less for knowing,   
As it grows wiser and older,   
That now it means to stay. 
  
My feet tug at the floor           
And my head sways to my shoulder   
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,   
From the window or the door.  
 
I shall set forth for somewhere,   
I shall make the reckless choice            
Some day when they are in voice   
And tossing so as to scare   
The white clouds over them on.   
I shall have less to say,   
But I shall be gone. 

Robert Frost