Your peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines!
In the soft light of these serenest skies;
From the broad highland region, black with pines,
Fair as the hills of Paradise they rise.
Bathed in the tint Peruvian slaves behold
In rosy flushes on the virgin gold. [ William Cullen Bryant ]

Thou hastenest down between the hills to meet me at the road.
The secret scarcely lisping of thy beautiful abode
Among the pines and mosses of yonder shadowy height.
Where thou dost sparkle into song, and fill the woods with light. [ Lucy Larcom ]

And winter, that grand old harper, smote his thunder-harp of pines. [ Alexander Smith ]

The covetous man pines in plenty, like Tantalus up to the chin in water and yet thirsty. [ Rev. T. Adams ]

These blasted pines, wrecks of a single winter, barkless, branchless, a blighted trunk upon a cursed root [ Byron ]