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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.

Either make the tree food, and his fruit good; or else make the tree corrupt, and his fruit corrupt: for the tree is known by his fruit.

I have seen the wicked in great power, and spreading himself like a green bay tree.

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

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.

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.

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.

The shad-bush, white with flowers, Brightened the glens; the new leaved butternut And quivering poplar to the roving breeze Gave a balsamic fragrance.

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

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

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

As by the way of innuendo Lucus is made a non lucendo.

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

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

Some boundless contiguity of shade.

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.

Care is taken that trees do not grow into the sky.

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?

Plant no other tree before the vine.

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.