The lovely town was white with apple blooms.
And the great elms o'erhead
Dark shadows wove on their serial looms.
Shot through with golden thread. [ Longfellow ]

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell forever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. [ Gray ]

Night steals on; and the day takes its farewell, like the words of a departing friend, or the last tone of hallowed music in a minster's aisles, heard when it floats along the shade of elms, in the still place of graves. [ Percival ]