The forest laments in order that Mr. Gladstone may perspire.

The forest laments in order that Mr. Gladstone may perspire.

Where is the pride of Summer,--the green prime,--
The many, many leaves all twinkling?--three
On the mossed read more

Where is the pride of Summer,--the green prime,--
The many, many leaves all twinkling?--three
On the mossed elm; three on the naked lime
Trembling,--and one upon the old oak tree!
Where is the Dryad's immortality?

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.

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.

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.

Fragrant o'er all the western groves
The tall magnolia towers unshaded.

Fragrant o'er all the western groves
The tall magnolia towers unshaded.

Some boundless contiguity of shade.

Some boundless contiguity of shade.

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.