1 92 ARBOR DAY 



Yet it remains to me a curious token, it makes me 



think of manly love; 

 For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there 



in Louisiana, solitary in a wide, flat space, 

 Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend, 



a lover near, 

 I know very well I could not. 



THE MAPLE* 



BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 



THE Maple puts her corals on in May, 

 While loitering frosts about the lowlands cling, 

 To be in tune with what the robins sing, 

 Plastering new log-huts 'mid her branches gray; 

 But when the Autumn southward turns away, 

 Then in her veins burns most the blood of 



Spring, 



And every leaf, intensely blossoming, 

 Makes the year's sunset pale the set of day. 

 O Youth unprescient, were it only so 

 With trees you plant, and in whose shade reclined, 

 Thinking their drifting blooms Fate's coldest 



snow, 



You carve dear names upon the faithful rind, 

 Nor in that vernal stem the cross foreknow 

 That Age shall bear, silent, yet unresigned! 



* By permission of the publishers, Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 



