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Of all the trees that grow so fair,
Old England to adorn,
Greater are none beneath the Sun,
Than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn.
--
A Tree Song, Stanza 1 (1906).

 

Rudyard Kipling

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Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.

 

Oliver Goldsmith

 

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal — yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

 

John Keats

 

His grandeur he deriv’d from heaven alone,
For he was great e’er fortune made him so
And wars like mists that rise against the sun
Made him but greater seem, not greater grow.
No borrow’d bays his temple did adorn,
But to our Crown he did fresh jewels bring;
Nor was his virtue poison’d soon as born,
With the too early thoughts of being King.

 

Oliver Cromwell

 

Let opening roses knotted oaks adorn,
And liquid amber drop from every thorn.

 

Alexander Pope

 

"Love is like a wind stirring the grass beneath trees on a black night," he had said. "You must not try to be definite and sure about it and to live beneath the trees, where soft night winds blow, the long hot day of disappointment comes swiftly and the gritty dust from passing wagons gathers upon lips inflamed and made tender by kisses."

 

Sherwood Anderson