poplar

The yard was quite dark as they turned into it and the poplar leaves were rustling silkily all round it.

The rustle of the poplar leaves about the house worried her, it sounded so like pattering raindrops, and the full, faraway roar of the gulf, to which she listened delightedly at other times, loving its strange, sonorous, haunting rhythm, now seemed like a prophecy of storm and disaster to a small maiden who particularly wanted a fine day.

A cool wind was blowing down over the long harvest fields from the rims of firry western hills and whistling through the poplars.

Anne sighed and betook herself to the back yard, over which a young new moon was shining through the leafless poplar boughs from an apple-green western sky, and where Matthew was splitting wood.