Trees

I'll hang my harp on a willow tree.

— Trees

Willow, in thy breezy moan,Willow, sighing willow!

— Trees

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

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The willow hangs with sheltering grace They rest in God.

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

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

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Know ye the willow-tree, A sad, lost spirit!

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Careless, unsocial plant! that loves to dwellNo other merriment, dull tree! is thine.

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

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Slips of yewSliver'd in the moon's eclipse.

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Of vast circumference and gloom profound,To be destroyed.

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There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale,Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore.

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A birch tree doesn't feel cosmic fulfillment when a moose munches its leaves; the tree species, in fact, evolves to fight the moose, to keep the animal's munching lips away from vulnerable young leaves and twigs. In the final analysis, the merciless hand of natural selection will favor the birch genes that make the tree less and less palatable to the moose in generation after generation. No plant species could survive for long by offering itself as unprotected fodder.

— Trees

A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.

— Trees

The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see Nature all ridicule and deformity, and some scarce see Nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, Nature is Imagination itself.

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

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As by the way of innuendoLucus is made a non lucendo.

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

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Some boundless contiguity of shade.

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He that planteth a tree is the servant of God,And faces that he hath not seen shall bless him.

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All religions, arts and sciences are branches of the same tree. All these aspirations are directed toward ennobling man's life, lifting it from the sphere of mere physical existence and leading the individual towards freedom.

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Observe and see how (in the winter) all the trees seem as though they had withered and shed all their leaves, except fourteen trees, which do not lose their foliage but retain the old foliage from two to three years till the new comes.

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When iron was found, the trees began to tremble, but the iron reassured them: 'Let no handle made from you enter into anything made from me, and I shall be powerless to injure you.'

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If you love me, be patient. Look at the trees. Are they in a hurry to ripen their fruit?

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The entire Earth, with her trees and her waters, with her animals, with her men and her gods, calls from within your breast. Earth rises up in your brains and sees her entire body for the first time.

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Every man has his own circle composed of trees, animals, men, ideas, and he is in duty bound to save this circle. He, and no one else. If he does not save it, he cannot be saved. These are the labors each man is given and is in duty bound to complete before he dies. He may not otherwise be saved. For his own soul is scattered and enslaved in these things about him, in trees, in animals, in men, in ideas, and it is his own soul he saves by completing these labors.

— Trees

Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm,Of stateliest view.

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And all amid them stood the Tree of Life,Of vegetable gold.

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A pillar'd shadeHigh over-arch'd, and echoing walks between.

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I think that I shall never see I'll never see a tree at all.

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Perhaps you see big trees and little trees and think that big trees are older than little trees. You also might notice that there are more little trees than big trees, and so not every little tree grows up to be a big tree – most die young. But the little trees must come from somewhere, namely seeds produced and shed by the bigger trees. These are the core ideas of population ecology.

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Haunted trees from the fringe of streets.

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Tree does not live in fragments.by life in its own embrace.

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All trees and birdswere seeing everything.

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I knew a parson who frightened his congregation terribly by telling them that the second coming was very imminent indeed, but they were much consoled when they found that he was planting trees in his garden.

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Build your nest upon no tree here, for ye see that God hath sold the forest to death.

— Trees

Mister!" he said with a sawdusty sneeze. And I'm asking you, sir, at the top of my lungs

— Trees

Hath not old custom made this life more sweetMore free from peril than the envious court?

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But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree,In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.

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Under the greenwood tree But winter and rough weather.

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If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,Infect thy sap and live on thy confusion.

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Who am no more but as the tops of trees,Which fence the roots they grow by and defend them.

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A barren detested vale, you see it is;O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe.

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The laurell, meed of mightie conqueroursThe carver holme; the maple seldom inward sound.

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It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men's hearts, as for that subtle something, that quality of air that emanates from old trees, that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit.

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The woods are hush'd, their music is no more; Free love—free field—we love but while we may.

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Now rings the woodland loud and long,The lark becomes a sightless song.

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Or ruminate in the contiguous shade.

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Welcome, ye shades! ye bowery Thickets hail!Delicious is your shelter to the soul.

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But see the fading many-coloured Woods,To sooty dark.

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It is the multitude of trees that make a forest. Let us be like those [...] useful trees benefitting all sentient beings.

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The best time to plant a tree was thirty years ago; the second best time is today

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The place is all awave with trees,The fittest foliage for a dream.

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Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needsTo thy sick heart.

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The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learnedAnd supplication.

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Oh, leave this barren spot to me!Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!

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Where is the pride of Summer,—the green prime,— Where is the Dryad's immortality?

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I think that I shall never scanBut God himself lives in a man.

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I think that I shall never seeBut only God can make a tree.

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It was the noiseWhich Germans call the Wind's bride.

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This is the forest primeval.

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Woodman, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough!In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now.

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When the sappy boughsOf future harvest.

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The highest and most lofty trees have the most reason to dread the thunder.

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So bright in death I used to say,The gold and scarlet of the sun.

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Now all the tree-tops lay asleep, The ocean-woods may be.

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The trees were gazing up into the sky,Their bare arms stretched in prayer for the snows.

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A temple whose transepts are measured by miles, No festivals limit its feast.

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The woods appearSign of the fatal pestilence of Frost.

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The linden broke her ranks and rent By rivers gallopaded.

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O Love, what hours were thine and mine,Of olive, aloe, and maize, and vine.

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Sure thou did'st nourish once! and many springs, While the low violet thrives at their root.

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In such green palaces the first kings reign'd,And by frequenting sacred groves grew wise.

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A brotherhood of venerable Trees.

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One impulse from a vernal wood Than all the sages can.

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The earth brought forth vegetation, plants yielding seed according to their own kinds, and trees bearing fruit in which is their seed, according to its kind. And God saw that it was good.

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Thou shalt not destroy the trees thereof by forcing an axe against them: for thou mayest eat of them, and thou shalt not cut them down (for the tree of the field is man's life).

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In the place where the tree falleth, there it shall be.

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The tree is known by his fruit.

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Happy is the man … his delights is in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates day and night. He is like a tree planted by streams of water, that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither.

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The fruitage of the righteous one is a tree of life, and the one who wins souls is wise.

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Expectation postponed makes the heart sick, but a desire realized is a tree of life.

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The angel cried with a loud voice, saying, Hurt not the earth, neither the sea, nor the trees.

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A great acacia, with its slender trunkStood reconciling all the place with green.

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Light-leaved acacias, by the door, And breathed a perfume rare.

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Our rocks are rough, but smiling thereFor flow'ring in a wilderness.

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I said to the almond tree: "Speak to me of God."and the almond tree blossomed.

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I heard the bells from the future churches, the children playing and laughing in the schoolyards … and here was an almond tree in bloom before me: I must reach out and cut a flowering branch. For, by believing passionately in something which still does not exist, we create it. The nonexistent is whatever we have not sufficiently desired, whatever we have not irrigated with our blood to such a degree that it becomes strong enough to stride across the somber threshold of nonexistence.

— Trees

The ash her purple drops forgivinglyEre the rain falls, the cautious farmer burns his brush.

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THE quiet of the evening hourAnd cast a changeful shade along.

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What whispers so strange at the hour of midnight, Full moon beams upon it so mildly?

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Beneath a shivering canopy reclined,The spiry cones that tremble on the fir.

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And the wind, full of wantonness, wooes like a loverThe young aspen-trees till they tremble all over.

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Do I? yea, in very truth do I,An 'twere an aspen leaf.

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O had the monster seen those lily handsTremble like aspen-leaves, upon a lute.

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Rippling through thy branches goes the sunshine,Quivering to tell her woe, but ah! dumb, dumb forever.

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O'er yon bare knoll the pointed cedar shadowsDrowse on the crisp, gray moss.

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Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge,Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle.

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High on a hill a goodly Cedar grewe,Her match in beautie was not anie one.

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Sweet is the air with the budding haws, and the valley stretching for miles belowIs white with blossoming cherry-trees, as if just covered with lightest snow.

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When I see the chestnut letting "Alas the day!"

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The chestnuts, lavish of their long-hid gold,Pour back the sunshine hoarded 'neath her favoring eye.

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Dark tree! still sad when other's grief is fled,The only constant mourner o'er the dead.

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And the great elms o'erheadShot through with golden thread.

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In crystal vapour everywhere From draughts of balmy air.

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Close by a rock, of less enormous height,And shoot a leafy forest to the skies.

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So counsel'd he, and both together wentHigh overarch'd, and echoing walks between.

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A lonely fir-tree is standing Cast round it a garment of white.

— Trees

I remember, I remember Were close against the sky.

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a drear-nighted December, Their green felicity.

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Kindles the gummy bark of fir or pine,Which might supply the sun.

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The laurel-tree grew large and strong, And blossomed o'er the Despot's crown.

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This flower that smells of honey and the sea,Lit in the heaven of dear times dead to me.

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The linden in the fervors of JulyHums with a louder concert.

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If thou lookest on the lime-leaf, Chosen seats of each fond lover.

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

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That was a day of delight and wonder.He smelled the sweet odor of newly mown hay.

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I mark me how today the maples wear Lance-keen, and with the little blue of steel.

— Trees

Retracing our steps to the garden we see two trees which are redolent of the past - a medlar and a mulberry. This last is not a beautiful tree. It covers itself with such dense masses of heavy foliage; its form has neither grace nor dignity - and yet we love it.

— Trees

A song to the oak, the brave old oak, When the storms through his branches shout.

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The oak, when living, monarch of the wood;The English oak, which, dead, commands the flood.

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Old noted oak! I saw thee in a moodOf grass that waves around thee!

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The monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees,Supreme in state; and in three more decays.

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Tall oaks from little acorns grow.

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The oaks with solemnity shook their heads; "Dear Monarch, forgive what I've spoken!"

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Those green-robed senators of mighty woods,Dream, and so dream all night without a stir.

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The tall Oak, towering to the skies,Inured to stand, and suffer wrong.

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Our Mountains are cover'd with Imperial OakWhile the Earth bears a Plant, or the Sea rolls its Waves.

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As the palm-tree standeth so straight and so tall,The more the hail beats, and the more the rains fall.

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First the high palme-trees, with braunches faire,And high shoote up their heads into the skyes.

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Next to thee, O fair gazelle,With love, and silence, and mystery!

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What does the good ship bear so well?And the milky sap of its inner cell.

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Shaggy shadeNods to the storm.

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Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines.

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'Twas on the inner bark, stripped from the pine, Two braided pallets formed his desk and chair.

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As sunbeams stream through liberal spaceAnd fanned the dreams it never brought.

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Under the yaller pines I house, The baskin' west-wind purr contented.

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The pine is the mother of legends.

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To archèd walks of twilight groves,Of pine.

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

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Ancient Pines,Spring is your sole historian.

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Stately Pines,Your chant will meet the thunders of the sea.

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We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain.

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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.

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

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The tulip-tree, high up,And silken-winged insects of the sky.

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The Spice-Tree lives in the garden green, The root stands fast in the rocks below.

— Trees