The Brown Beech

The Brown Beech
Fine for variety—but give me green;
Green, pale in springtime, dark in summer days,
Changing to gray beneath the sun’s hot rays,
And when the autumn comes, then to be seen
Changed to the numerous tints which so adorn 5
The forests ere they cast their dying leaves.
Nature her wreath of beauty ever weaves
To gladden every eye: not man’s alone,
But those of birds, beasts, insects; e’en the sea
Has its fine flora for the finny tribe. 10
We in our selfishness too oft ascribe
All things as form’d for us alone; and we
Are all too apt to this mistake to cling,
Forgetting God hath love for every living thing.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 53]