A grove of pines
covered one part of it, and from the heart of this green spot came a clearer sound than the soft sigh of the pines
or the drowsy chirp of the crickets.
A broken spray of pine
needles rustled along the roof, or a pine
cone dropped with a quick reverberating tap-tap that for an instant startled her.
Unbending the rigid folds of the parchment cover, I found it to be a commission, under the hand and seal of Governor Shirley, in favour of one Jonathan Pine
, as Surveyor of His Majesty's Customs for the Port of Salem, in the Province of Massachusetts Bay.
But, above all, I discovered around me--it was near the end of June--on the ends of the topmost branches only, a few minute and delicate red conelike blossoms, the fertile flower of the white pine
Then came the "woodsy bit," with her feet pressing the slippery carpet of brown pine
needles; the "woodsy bit" so full of dewy morning, surprises,--fungous growths of brilliant orange and crimson springing up around the stumps of dead trees, beautiful things born in a single night; and now and then the miracle of a little clump of waxen Indian pipes, seen just quickly enough to be saved from her careless tread.
This smoke (or flame, perhaps, would be the better word for it) was so bright that the deep blue sky overhead and the hazy stretches of brown common towards Chertsey, set with black pine
trees, seemed to darken abruptly as these puffs arose, and to remain the darker after their dispersal.
It will shine through the house so that we may pick up a pin in any corner and will set all the windows aglowing as if there were a great fire of pine
knots in the chimney.
It will shine through the house so that we may pick up a pin in any corner, and will set all the windows aglowing as if there were a great fire of pine
knots in the chimney.
He was so very tall that he carried a pine
tree, which was eight feet through the butt, for a walking stick.
The Judge examined the fresh marks in the bark of the pine
, and, shaking his head, said with a laugh:
The barasingh backed unwillingly as Purun Bhagat drove a pine
torch deep into the flame, twirling it till it was well lit.
THOU wast all that to me, love, For which my soul did pine
-- A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrime, All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine.