Lamartine Tree
to a flower pressed in my album
The Maasser Cedar Forest holds a unique distinction as the oldest cedar forest referenced in ancient literature. Within its hallowed grounds stand two remarkable trees.
The first is the famous cedar tree that adorns the Lebanese flag, a living symbol of national pride. Standing tall for over 3000 years, this ancient tree carries the weight of centuries and serves as a powerful emblem of resilience and heritage.
Then, there’s the La Martine tree—an awe-inspiring giant that captured the heart of French poet Alphonse de Lamartine in 1833. During his time in Lebanon, Lamartine was mesmerized by the beauty of the country's cedar forests, but it was beneath this very tree that he spent hours, absorbing the quiet majesty of the forest. The La Martine tree is not just a natural wonder, but a place of reflection, offering a sense of timelessness that leaves a lasting impression on all who visit.
Exploring Maasser Cedar Forest isn’t just a walk among trees—it’s a journey through history, culture, and the poetic beauty of nature.
“The Cedars know the history of the earth better than history itself.”
À une fleur séchée dans un album
Il m’en souvient, c’était aux plages
Où m’attire un ciel du midi,
Ciel sans souillure et sans orages,
Où j’aspirais sous les feuillages
Les parfums d’un air attiédi.
Une mer qu’aucun bord n’arrête
S’étendait bleue à l’horizon ;
L’oranger, cet arbre de fête,
Neigeait par moments sur ma tête ;
Des odeurs montaient du gazon.
Tu croissais près d’une colonne
D’un temple écrasé par le temps ;
Tu lui faisais une couronne,
Tu parais son tronc monotone
Avec tes chapiteaux flottants ;
Fleur qui décores la ruine
Sans un regard pour t’admirer !
Je cueillis ta blanche étamine,
Et j’emportai sur ma poitrine
Tes parfums pour les respirer.
Aujourd’hui, ciel, temple et rivage,
Tout a disparu,
sans retour :
Ton parfum est dans le nuage,
Et je trouve, en tournant la page,
La trace morte d’un beau jour !
— Alphonse de Lamartine
To a flower pressed in my album
I remember, it was at the beach
There, drawn by the afternoon sky,
A sky unstained, no tempest near,
I breathed beneath the verdant leaves,
The warm and perfumed air.
A sea unbounded by borders
That stretched out blue to the horizon;
The orange tree, full with its blossom
Dropping like snow to fall on my head;
Scent rising up from the turf.
You grew close to a column
Of a temple battered by time.
You set upon it a crown
That appeared on its unadorned face
With capitals seemingly floating.
Flowers decorated a ruin
With no thought for reward!
I plucked your white stem
Wore you there on my chest
In order to breathe your scent.
Today, sky, temple and shore
Have all disappeared,
no more to return:
Your perfume has risen into the clouds
And I find, upon turning the page,
The mortal remains of a beautiful day.
— Alphonse de Lamartine