When the poet sees Birch trees, it reminds him of his youth, when he used to play alone in the woods and climb and conquer every birch. They would bend and swing down and loosen up. The difference between what he did and what the ice storms did to the birch: the ice would bend the tree and they would never right themselves again.
He thinks of being that swinger of birches again, getting away from the current world, "weary of considerations, (when) life is too much like a pathless wood..."
Don't get him wrong, he does not want to disappear forever; he'd like to return and start life over. He particularly thinks of earth as the only place for love.
But he'd like to climb a birch to the top and let it gently swing him down to the ground.
There is nothing better than being a swinger of birches.
He thinks of being that swinger of birches again, getting away from the current world, "weary of considerations, (when) life is too much like a pathless wood..."
Don't get him wrong, he does not want to disappear forever; he'd like to return and start life over. He particularly thinks of earth as the only place for love.
But he'd like to climb a birch to the top and let it gently swing him down to the ground.
There is nothing better than being a swinger of birches.