My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these, Because my love is come to me.
Oh, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In Englandnow!Robert Browning
I got me flowers to strewThy way, I got me boughs off many a tree; But Thou wast up by break of day, And brought'st Thy sweets along withThee.George Herbert
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than beforeedna st. vincent millay
There is continual spring, and harvest there Continual, both meeting at one time: For both the boughs do laughing blossoms bear, And with fresh colours deck the wanton prime, And eke attonce the heavy trees they climb, Which seem to labour under their fruits load: The whiles the joyous birds make their pastime Amongst the shady leaves, their sweet above, And their true loves without suspicion tell abroad.Edmund Spenser
I saw thee in a vision of the night Transfigured; for it seemed that on thy brows The heavens did rest with all their stars, like boughs Laden with blossoms; round thy feet the bright Green waves, like grass, ran rippling, strewn with white Star-fragments of rent petals: wasted vows, And ruined prayers I thought them, such as house In hearts that love and are not loved aright.john evelyn barlas
It is the hour when from the boughs The nightingale's high note is heard; It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whisper'd word.lord byron
To dwellers in a wood almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its feature. At the passing of the breeze the fir-trees sob and moan no less distinctly than they rock; the holly whistles as it battles with itself; the ash hisses amid its quiverings; the beech rustles while its flat boughs rise and fall.thomas hardy
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep, Nature's observatory whence the dell, In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell, May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep 'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.john keats
The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.Edmund Waller
Oh, to be in England, Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf, Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England now.Robert Browning
The nightingales among the sheltering boughs Of populous many-nested trees Shall teach me how to woo thee, and shall tell me By what resistless charms or incantations They won their mates.Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The rugged trees are mingling Their flowery sprays in love, The ivy climbs the laurel To clasp the boughs above.william cullen bryant
When the sappy boughs Attire themselves with blooms, sweet rudiments Of future harvest.
Under the yaller pines I house, When sunshine makes 'em all sweet-scented, An' hear among their furry boughs The baskin' west-wind purr contented.james russell lowell
Trees that, like the poplar, hit upward all their boughs, give no shade and no shelter, whatever their height. Trees the most lovingly shelter and shade us, when, like the willow, the higher soar their summits, the lowlier droop their boughs.Lytton
The Spice-Tree lives in the garden green, Beside it the fountain flows; And a fair Bird sits the boughs between, And sings his melodious woes. * * * * * * That out-bound stem has branches three; On each a thousand blossoms grow; And old as aught of time can be, The root stands fast in the rocks below.
Such phantom blossoms palely shining Over the lifeless boughs of Time.
Whate'er you are, That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; If ever you have look’d on better days, If ever been where bells have knoll’d to church, If ever sat at any good man’s feast, If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear, And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied Let gentleness my strong enforcement be.
It is the winterwind that blows, wailing all night long, wailing for the far-off day; the branches toss, the boughs sway, it is the winterwind that blows... And the winds of winter sing a song of loneliness and silent sorrow; echo-less their lament dies away over the empty veld in the night, sighing through the grass seeds, and drawn is far away.