Gryphon, whose beak hath never pluck’d that tree Pleasant to taste: for hence the appetite Was warp’d to evil.”
“Mas’r, let me lone for dat,” said Sambo, “I’ll tree de coon.
Along the northern coast, Just back from the rock-bound shore and the caves, In the saline air from the sea in the Mendocino country, With the surge for base and accompaniment low and hoarse, With crackling blows of axes sounding musically driven by strong arms, Riven deep by the sharp tongues of the axes, there in the redwood forest dense, I heard the might tree its death-chant chanting.
Fine flat sand, never a cat's paw, trees all around of it, and flowers a-blowing like a garding on that old ship."
An' all the whiles he never see a thing, only them trees an' bushes a-bendin'.