Spare the Trees

The noble trees that boldly guard the brave
In pride serene; their lofty domes are sweet
To pavement-weary eyes, and town-worn feet
Move with a freer step as o'er the grave
Of Ladd, of Whitney, their cool banners wave.
How passing fair upon the thriving street
The soothing beauty of this calm retreat;
Awake, O city! and thine ancients save.
What grace the tone refined of sylvan shade
Sheds on the busy square; the Hall, embossed
With figures quaint by Sol himself inlaid.
Throw down the pruning axe and count the cost;
Ay, spare the trees; let none the theme evade,
For what is "time," when such as these are lost.