Trees

"Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines."

"'Twas on the inner bark, stripped from the pine, Our father pencilled this epistle rare; Two blazing pine knots did his torches shine, Two braided pallets formed his desk and chair."

"As sunbeams stream through liberal space And nothing jostle or displace, So waved the pine-tree through my thought And fanned the dreams it never brought."

"Like two cathedral towers these stately pines Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones; The arch beneath them is not built with stones, Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines, And carved this graceful arabasque of vines; No organ but the wind here sighs and moans, No sepulchre conceals a martyr's bones, No marble bishop on his tomb reclines. Enter! the pavement, carpeted with leaves, Gives back a softened echo to thy tread! Listen! the choir is singing; all the birds, In leafy galleries beneath the eaves, Are singing! listen, ere the sound be fled, And learn there may be worship without words."

"Under the yaller pines I house, When sunshine makes 'em all sweet-scented, An' hear among their furry boughs The baskin' west-wind purr contented."

"The pine is the mother of legends."

"To archèd walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown that Sylvan loves, Of pine."

"Here also grew the rougher rinded pine, The great Argoan ship's brave ornament."

"Ancient Pines, Ye bear no record of the years of man. Spring is your sole historian."

"Stately Pines, But few more years around the promontory Your chant will meet the thunders of the sea."

"We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed The white of their leaves, the amber grain Shrunk in the wind,—and the lightning now Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain."

"Trees that, like the poplar, hit upward all their boughs, give no shade and no shelter, whatever their height. Trees the most lovingly shelter and shade us, when, like the willow, the higher soar their summits, the lowlier droop their boughs."

"Heed not the night; a summer lodge amid the wild is mine— 'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree, 'tis mantled by the vine."

"The tulip-tree, high up, Opened, in airs of June, her multitude Of golden chalices to humming birds And silken-winged insects of the sky."

"The Spice-Tree lives in the garden green, Beside it the fountain flows; And a fair Bird sits the boughs between, And sings his melodious woes. * * * * * * That out-bound stem has branches three; On each a thousand blossoms grow; And old as aught of time can be, The root stands fast in the rocks below."

"I'll hang my harp on a willow tree."

"Willow, in thy breezy moan, I can hear a deeper tone; Through thy leaves come whispering low, Faint sweet sounds of long ago— Willow, sighing willow!"

"All a green willow, willow, All a green willow is my garland."

"The willow hangs with sheltering grace And benediction o'er their sod, And Nature, hushed, assures the soul They rest in God."

"Near the lake where drooped the willow, Long time ago."

"We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof."

"Know ye the willow-tree, Whose grey leaves quiver, Whispering gloomily To yon pale river? Lady, at even-tide Wander not near it: They say its branches hide A sad, lost spirit!"

"Careless, unsocial plant! that loves to dwell 'Midst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and worms: Where light-heel'd ghosts and visionary shades, Beneath the wan, cold Moon (as Fame reports) Embodied, thick, perform their mystic rounds. No other merriment, dull tree! is thine."

"For there no yew nor cypress spread their gloom But roses blossom'd by each rustic tomb."

"Slips of yew Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse."

"Of vast circumference and gloom profound, This solitary Tree! A living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed."

"There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore."