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. DurfeeWhat-Cheer. Canto II.
As sunbeams stream through liberal space And nothing jostle or displace, So waved the pine-tree through my thought And fanned the dreams it never brought. EmersonWoodnotes. II.
Like two cathedral towers these stately pines Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones; The arch beneath them is not built with stones, Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines, And carved this graceful arabasque of vines; No organ but the wind here sighs and moans, No sepulchre conceals a martyrs 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. LongfellowSonnets. My Cathedral.
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. LowellThe Biglow Papers. Second Series. No. 10.