Plant no other tree before the vine.
[Lat., Nullam vare, sacra vite prius arborem.]

Plant no other tree before the vine.
[Lat., Nullam vare, sacra vite prius arborem.]

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.

I think that I shall never scan
A tree as lovely as a man.
. . . read more

I think that I shall never scan
A tree as lovely as a man.
. . . .
A tree depicts divinest plan,
But God himself lives in a man.

Care is taken that trees do not grow into the sky.
[Ger., Es ist dafur gesorgt, dass die Baume read more

Care is taken that trees do not grow into the sky.
[Ger., Es ist dafur gesorgt, dass die Baume nicht in den Himmel
wachsen.]

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry,
Of bugles going by.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry,
Of bugles going by.

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.

On the Big Blackfoot River above the mouth of Belmont Creek the
banks are fringed by large Ponderosa pines. read more

On the Big Blackfoot River above the mouth of Belmont Creek the
banks are fringed by large Ponderosa pines. In the slanting sun
of late afternoon the shadows of great branches reached across
the river, and the trees took the river in their arms.

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.

It is not growing like a tree
In bulk, doth make man better be;
Or standing long read more

It is not growing like a tree
In bulk, doth make man better be;
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere:
A lily of a day
Is fairer far in May,
Although it falls and die that night--
It was the plant and flower of Light.