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The Beech Tree’s
Petition Thomas Campbell (1774-1844)
"Oh, leave this barren
spot to me!
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
Though bud and flow’ret never grow
My dark unwarming shade below;
Nor summer bud perfume the dew,
Of rosy blush, or yellow hue;
Nor fruits of autumn, blossoms born,
My green and glossy leaves adorn,
Nor murmuring tribes from me derive
Th’ ambrosial amber of the hive;
Yet leave this barren spot to me
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
Since youthful lovers in
my shade
Their vows of truth and rapture made,
And on my trunks’ surviving frame
Carved many a long forgotten name ...
As love’s own altar, honour me:
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree." |
CHILD'S SONG IN SPRING Edith Nesbit [1858-1924]
The silver birch is a dainty lady,
She wears a satin gown;
The elm tree makes the old churchyard shady,
She will not live in town.
The English oak is a sturdy fellow,
He gets his green coat late;
The willow is smart in a suit of yellow,
While brown the beech trees wait.
Such a gay green gown God gives the larches -
As green as He is good!
The hazels hold up their arms for arches
When Spring rides through the wood.
The chestnut's proud, and the lilac's pretty,
The poplar's gentle and tall,
But the plane tree's kind to the poor dull city -
I love him best of all!
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