The beech trees below the house were burning while I did this, and the palings up the road glowed red.
"The War of the Worlds" by H. G. Wells
In the air, the unfolding leaves of a copper-beech were blood-red.
"Women in Love" by D. H. Lawrence
It was a delicious afternoon of Spring, with the full red disk of sun dropping behind the brown beech-twigs.
"Diana of the Crossways, Complete" by George Meredith
Red sumac and bronzed beech-trees waved their flags at them in vain.
"Understood Betsy" by Dorothy Canfield
The first effect of colour left on my eyes the impression of sunset-red, warm as copper beeches.
"Set in Silver" by Charles Norris Williamson and Alice Muriel Williamson
Three beeches with red or copper colored leaves as far back as 1680 were recorded as growing in a wood near Zurich, Switzerland.
"Northern Nut Growers Report of the Proceedings at the Twenty-First Annual Meeting" by Northern Nut Growers Association
His house, backed by noble beeches and pines, faced south, and was a wonderful deep red, with white trim.
"If You Touch Them They Vanish" by Gouverneur Morris
It was a broad shallow pit or hollow filled quite up to the top with the red-brown beech leaves.
"Our Frank" by Amy Walton
The beech, hickory, red oak, and chestnut are good examples.
"Ontario Teachers' Manuals: Nature Study" by Ontario Ministry of Education
Lastly, the apples become red; the beech in the corner has an orange spray, and cones hang long and brown upon the spruce.
"The Toilers of the Field" by Richard Jefferies
Mr. Redding, the teacher we had last winter, licked him with a beech gad, and he behaved hisself after that.
"Lippincott's Magazine, September, 1885" by Various
The spreading oaks were darkly green, but the beeches had begun to turn and their pale trunks glimmered among splashes of orange and red.
"Partners of the Out-Trail" by Harold Bindloss
His red curls were getting a beautiful copper-beech colour as he grew older.
"Shadows of Flames" by Amelie Rives
These are, in the order named, black birch, hickory, sugar maple, yellow birch, and red beech.
"Woodcraft and Camping" by George Washington Sears (Nessmuk)
Withered ferns covered the light green moss with their ragged red fronds and tired leaves came fluttering down out of the beech trees.
"The Song of Songs" by Hermann Sudermann
In the South, where the beech-tree is replaced by the oak, the red-heads eat acorns.
"The Woodpeckers" by Fannie Hardy Eckstorm
I fancy the line must be down the copper beech trunk, as there is but one red bead.
"The Mandarin's Fan" by Fergus Hume
High up in the beeches spots of red gold were widening slowly, and the acorns showed thickly on the oaks.
"Greene Ferne Farm" by Richard Jefferies
Red and white beech wood are distinguished by lumbermen.
"Trees Worth Knowing" by Julia Ellen Rogers
First the leaves on ther maples, an' beeches, an' oaks they begin ter turn yaller an' red a little bit.
"Frank Merriwell's New Comedian" by Burt L. Standish
Five teams at plough,
All at plough together . . .
Red the beeches bough,
Crisp and cold the weather.
"Winter Morning" by Cicely Fox Smith
"By beeches gowd! By rowans red!
By all 'at thoo hold dear!
Fox Ghyll, Howe Wood, dale-end or head,
I'll bide tryst onywheer."
"Autumn Tryst" by Dorothy Una Ratcliffe
I'm Wanda born
Of the mirthful morn
So I heard the red-buds whisper
To the forest beech,
Tho I know that each
Is but a gossipy lisper.
"Wanda" by Cale Young Rice
Where the violet shadows brood
Under cottonwoods and beeches,
Through whose leaves the restless reaches
Of the river glance, I've stood,
While the red-bird and the thrush
Set to song the morning hush.
"Along The Stream" by Madison Julius Cawein
An' when at Fall the trees wer brown,
Above the bennet-bearèn land,
When beech-leaves slowly whiver'd down.
By evenèn winds a-fann'd;
The routs wer each a band o' red,
A-vill'd by drifted beech-leaves dead.
"The Wheel Routs" by William Barnes
Red-lipped poppies stand and burn,
The hedges are aglow;
The daisies climb the windy hills
Till all grow white like snow.
And when the slim, pale moon slides down, and dreamy night is near,
There's a whisper in the beeches for lonely hearts to hear.
"England's Fields" by Lloyd Roberts