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C.N. Douglas, comp.  Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical.  1917.
  The pine is the mother of legends.
                            Shaggy shade
Of desert-loving pine, whose emerald scalp
Nods to the storm.
        ’Twas on the inner bark, stripped from the pine,
  Our father pencilled this epistle rare;
Two blazing pine knots did his torches shine,
  Two braided pallets formed his desk and chair.
        Like two cathedral towers these stately pines
      Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones;
      The arch beneath them is not built with stores,
  Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines,
  And carved this graceful arabesque of vines;
      No organ but the wind here sighs and moans,
      No sepulchre conceals a martyr’s bones,
  No marble bishop on his tomb reclines.
Enter! the pavement, carpeted with leaves,
      Gives back a softened echo to thy tread!
  Listen! the choir is singing; all the birds,
In leafy galleries beneath the eaves,
      Are singing! listen, ere the sound be fled,
  And learn there may be worship without words.

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