I love

I love the gum of the spruce,

I love the bark of the hickory,

And I love the maple’s juice.

On the walnut’s grain I fondly dote,

On the cherry’s fruit I’d dine,

And I love to lie in a narrow boat,

And scent the odor of pine.

Ah, me! how I wish some power grand

Would invent some single tree

With all these points well developed, and

Would send that tree to me!

I’d plant it deep in the jardinière

That stands in this flat of mine;

I’d give it the sweetest, tenderest care,

And water its roots with wine.

WHERE ARE THEY?

What has become of the cast-off coats

What

That covered Will Shakespeare’s back?

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