See the rosy-berried Spindle
All to sunset colours turning,
Till the thicket seems to kindle,
Just as though the trees were burning.
While my berries split and show
Orange-coloured seeds aglow,
One by one my leaves must fall:
Soon the wind will take them all.
Soon must fairies shut their eyes
For the Winter’s hushabies;
But, before the Autumn goes,
Spindle turns to flame and rose!

This is where the little elves
Cuddle down to hide themselves;
Into fluffy beds they creep,
Say good-night, and go to sleep.

Here, on the dark and solemn Yew,
A marvel may be seen,
Where waxen berries, pink and new,
Appear amid the green.

I sit a-dreaming in the tree,
So old and yet so new;
One hundred years, or two, or three
Are little to the Yew.

I think of bygone centuries,
And seem to see anew
The archers face their enemies
With bended bows of Yew.

Fairies, when you lose your way,
From the dance returning,
In the darkest undergrowth
See my candles burning!
These shall make the pathway plain
Homeward to your beds again.

The wind is cold, the Spring seems long a-waking;
The woods are brown and bare;
Yet this is March: soon April will be making
All things most sweet and fair.

See, even now, in hedge and thicket tangled,
One brave and cheering sight:
The leafless branches of the Blackthorn, spangled
With starry blossoms white!

O, I am green in Winter-time,
When other trees are brown;
Of all the trees (So saith the rhyme)
The holly bears the crown.
December days are drawing near
When I shall come to town,
And carol-boys go singing clear
Of all the trees (O hush and hear!)
The holly bears the crown!

For who so well-beloved and merry
As the scarlet Holly Berry?

A tall, tall tree is the Pine tree,
With its trunk of bright red-brown—
The red of the merry squirrels
Who go scampering up and down.

There are cones on the tall, tall Pine tree,
With its needles sharp and green;
Small seeds in the cones are hidden,
And they ripen there unseen.

The elves play games with the squirrels
At the top of the tall, tall tree,
Throwing cones for the squirrels to nibble—
I wish I were there to see!

Have you seen the Box unclipped,
Never shaped and never snipped?
Often it’s a garden hedge,
Just a narrow little edge;
Or in funny shapes it’s cut,
And it’s very pretty; but—

But, unclipped, it is a tree,
Growing as it likes to be;
And it has its blossoms too;
Tiny buds, the Winter through,
Wait to open in the Spring
In a scented yellow ring.

And among its leaves there play
Little blue-tits, brisk and gay.

Safe across the moorland
Travellers may go,
If they heed our warning—
We’re the ones who know!

Let the footpath guide you—
You’ll be safely led;
There is bog beside you
Where you cannot tread!

Mind where you are going!
If you turn aside
Where you see us growing,
Trouble will betide.

Keep you to the path, then!
Hark to what we say!
Else, into the quagmire
You will surely stray.

You will not find him in the wood,
Nor in the country lane;
But in the city’s parks and streets
You’ll see the Plane.

O turn your eyes from pavements grey,
And look you up instead,
To where the Plane tree’s pretty balls
Hang overhead!

When he has shed his golden leaves,
His balls will yet remain,
To deck the tree until the Spring
Comes back again!

Wee little hooks on each brown little bur,
(Mind where you’re going, O Madam and Sir!)
How they will cling to your skirt-hem and stocking!
Hear how the Burdock is laughing and mocking:
Try to get rid of me, try as you will,
Shake me and scold me, I’ll stick to you still,
I’ll stick to you still!

All through the Summer my leaves were green,
But never a flower of mine was seen;
Now Summer is gone, that was so gay,
And my little green leaves are shed away.
In the grey of the year
What cheer, what cheer?

The Winter is come, the cold winds blow;
I shall feel the frost and the drifting snow;
But the sun can shine in December too,
And this is the time of my gift to you.
See here, see here,
My flowers appear!

The swallows have flown beyond the sea,
But friendly Robin, he stays with me;
And little Tom-Tit, so busy and small,
Hops where the jasmine is thick on the wall;
And we say: “Good cheer!
We’re here! We’re here!”