Bayard Taylor on Trees
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“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.”
“The woods appear With crimson blotches deeply dashed and crossed,— Sign of the fatal pestilence of Frost.”
“Next to thee, O fair gazelle, O Beddowee girl, beloved so well; Next to the fearless Nedjidee, Whose fleetness shall bear me again to thee; Next to ye both I love the Palm, With his leaves of beauty, his fruit of balm; Next to ye both I love the Tree Whose fluttering shadow wraps us three With love, and silence, and mystery!”