Tag Archives: trees

City Trees

The trees along our city streets
Are lovely, gallant things;
Their roots lie deep in blackened soil,
And yet they spread their wings

Of branching green or fretted twigs
Beneath a sullen sky,
And when the wind howls banshee-like
They bow to passers-by.

In fall their leaves are bannerets
Of dusty red and gold
And fires dim that warm our hearts
Against the coming cold.

Then delicate through winter’s snow
Each silhouette still makes
Black filigree, with frostings rare
Of silver powdered flakes.

But leafed or bare, they bravely rise
With healing in their wings—
The trees along our city streets
Are lovely, gallant things.

~Vere Dargan~


The Knapsack Trail

I like the wide and common road
Where all may walk at will,
The worn and rutted country road
That runs from hill to hill;
I like the road through pastures green
Worn by home-coming feet
Of lowing kine and barefoot boy
Where twilight shadows meet.

But I like best the Knapsack Trail
Wherein my heart and I
May walk and talk in quietness
With angels passing by.
The lonely Trail through forests dim
That leads to God-knows-where,
That winds from tree to spotted tree
‘Till sudden—we are there!
~Edwin Osgood Grover~

Who Has Seen the Wind?

Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling
The wind is passing thro’.

Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads
The wind is passing by.
~Christina Rossetti~

The Best Road of All

I like a road that leads away to prospects white and fair,
A road that is an ordered road, like a nun’s evening prayer;
But, best of all, I love a road that leads to God knows where.

You come upon it suddenly — you cannot seek it out;
It’s like a secret still unheard and never noised about;
But when you see it, gone at once is every lurking doubt.

It winds beside some rushing stream where aspens lightly quiver,
It follows many a broken field by many a shining river;
It seems to lead you on and on, forever and forever!

You tramp along its dusty way, beneath its shadowy trees,
And hear beside you chattering birds or happy booming bees,
And all around you golden sounds, the green leaves’ litanies.

And here’s a hedge, and there’s a cot; and then — strange, sudden turns;
A dip, a rise, a little glimpse where the red sunset burns;
A bit of sky at eveningtime, the scent of hidden ferns.

A winding road, a loitering road, a finger-mark of God
Traced when the Maker of the world leaned over ways untrod.
See! Here He smiled His glowing smile, and lo, the golden-rod!

I like a road that wanders straight; the King’s highway is fair,
And lovely are the sheltered lanes that take you here and there;
But, best of all, I love a road that leads to God knows where.

~Charles Hanson Towne~

October Party

October gave a party;
The leaves by hundreds came –
The Chestnuts, Oaks and Maples,
And leaves of every name.
The Sunshine spread a carpet,
And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing,
Professor Wind the band.

To Be A Scot

The absent Scot who seldom sees
Their mountains, rivers, lochs and trees
Still carries deep in heart and soul
Their country’s gift to keep them whole
To find contentment in their lot
That’s what it is to be a Scot.

Author unknown

The Lord God Planted a Garden

The Lord God planted a garden
In the first white days of the world,
And he set there an angel warden
In a garment of light enfurled.

So near to the peace of Heaven,
That the hawk might nest with the wren,
For there in the cool of the even’
God walked with the first of man.

The kiss of the sun for pardon
The song of the birds for mirth –
One is nearer God’s heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth.

~Dorothy Frances Gurney~

The Way Through the Woods

This poem precedes a children’s story called Marlake Witches.  Must admit it sounds intriguing…

They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.

Yet if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate,
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few.)
You will hear the beat of a  horse’s feet,
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods…
But there is no road through the woods.

~Rudyard Kipling~

I Remember, I Remember

Today’s selection…

I remember, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.

I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white;
The violets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday –
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,
Where I was used to swing;
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing:
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now ’tis little joy
To know I’m farther off from Heav’n
Than when I was a boy.

~Thomas Hood~ 1799 – 1845


Today is Arbor Day celebrated in many countries to plant and nurture trees…

I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
~Joyce Kilmer~

Paul Dobraszczyk

rag-picking history

Tdoo in Lesotho

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