The groves were God's first temple. Ere man learned
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,
And spread the roof above them,--ere he framed
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back
The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood,
Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks
And supplication.
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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.
As by the way of innuendo
Lucus is made a non lucendo.
As by the way of innuendo
Lucus is made a non lucendo.
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.
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.]
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.
If the clouds be full of rain, they empty themselves upon the
earth: and if the tree fall toward read more
If the clouds be full of rain, they empty themselves upon the
earth: and if the tree fall toward the south, or toward the
north, in the place where the tree falleth, there it shall be.
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.
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.
You'd scarce expect one of my age
To speak in public on the stage;
And if I read more
You'd scarce expect one of my age
To speak in public on the stage;
And if I chance to fall below
Demosthenes or Cicero,
Don't view me with a critic's eye,
But pass my imperfections by.
Large streams from little fountains flow,
Tall oaks from little acorns grow.
