No tree in all the grove but has its charms,
Though each its hue peculiar.

No tree in all the grove but has its charms,
Though each its hue peculiar.

Either make the tree food, and his fruit good; or else make the
tree corrupt, and his fruit corrupt: read more

Either make the tree food, and his fruit good; or else make the
tree corrupt, and his fruit corrupt: for the tree is known by
his fruit.

I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.
. . . read more

I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.
. . . .
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

As by the way of innuendo
Lucus is made a non lucendo.

As by the way of innuendo
Lucus is made a non lucendo.

I like trees because they seem more resigned to the way they have
to live than other things do.

I like trees because they seem more resigned to the way they have
to live than other things do.

The place is all awave with trees,
Limes, myrtles, purple-beaded,
Acacias having drunk the lees
read more

The place is all awave with trees,
Limes, myrtles, purple-beaded,
Acacias having drunk the lees
Of the night-dew, fain headed,
And wan, grey olive-woods, which seem
The fittest foliage for a dream.

It was the noise
Of ancient trees falling while all was still
Before the storm, in the read more

It was the noise
Of ancient trees falling while all was still
Before the storm, in the long interval
Between the gathering clouds and that light breeze
Which Germans call the Wind's bride.

The shad-bush, white with flowers,
Brightened the glens; the new leaved butternut
And quivering poplar to the read more

The shad-bush, white with flowers,
Brightened the glens; the new leaved butternut
And quivering poplar to the roving breeze
Gave a balsamic fragrance.

Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs
No school of long experience, that the world
read more

Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs
No school of long experience, that the world
Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen
Enough of all its sorrows, crimes and cares,
To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood
And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade
Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze
That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm
To thy sick heart.