See yonder leafless trees against the sky, How they diffuse themselves into the air, And, ever subdividing, separate Limbs into branches, branches into twigs, As if they loved the element, and hasted To dissipate their being into it. Emerson.Poems: Nature.
The oak roars when a high wind wrestles with it; the beech shrieks; the elm sends forth a long, deep groan; the ash pours out moans of thrilling anguish. Thomas Starr King.The White Hills: The Pemigewasset Valley.
A faint, low murmur, rising and falling on the wind. Now it comes rolling in upon me wave after wave of sweet, solemn music. There was a grand organ swell: and now it dies away as into the infinite distance; but I still hear itwhether with ear or spirit I know notthe very ghost of sound . It is the voice of the pines yondera sort of morning song of praise to the Giver of life and Maker of beauty. Whittier.My Summer with Dr. Singletary, Chap. V.