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Journal for HATBOX12
Journal for HATBOX12
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The White Magnolia Tree�
The year when I was twenty-one
(John that year was twenty-three)
That was the year, that was the spring,
We planted the white magnolia tree.
“This tree,†said John, “shall grow with us,
and every year it will bloom anew.
This is our life. This is our love.â€
And the white magnolia grew and grew…
Oh, youth’s a thing of fire and ice
And currents that run
Hot and white,
And its world is as bright
as the sun…
I was twenty-one….
And I wore a plume in my hat, and
we went to the movies and wept over
“Stella Dallas,†and John sang
“Moonlight and Roses†(a little off-
key, but very nicely, really), and we
hurried through our crowded days
with beautiful plans, boundless
ambitions and golden decisions.
There is so much the young heart�
clamors for; this it must have, and�
that it cannot live without, and
it must be all or nothing, for
aren’t we the masters of creation?
Oh, valiant and untamed were we,
When we planted the white magnolia tree!
And the white magnolia grew and grew,
Holding our love within its core,
And every year it bloomed anew,
and we were twenty-one no more.
No more untamed, no more so free,
Nor so young, nor so wild and
aflame were we.
Dearer to us then grew other things:
easy sleep, books, a day’s quiet
holiday, good talk beside a fire,
the beauty of old faces….
We have known many things since
then: the death of a child and the
bitter lesson that a heart which�
breaks must mend itself again
(that it can and must be done), and�
what loyalty can mean, and how
real a word like courage can be-
come, and that solitude can be
rich and gratifying and quite�
different from loneliness….
There is so little the serious heart�
requires: friends, faith, a window
open to to the world, pride in work
well done, and strength to live in
a world at war and still maintain
the heart’s own private peace….
Dear Heaven, I give thanks to thee
for the things I did not know before,
for the wisdom of maturity,
for bread, and a roof, and for
one thing more…
Thanks because I still can see
the bloom on the white magnolia tree!
by�
Helen Deutsch
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