the plants sweat drops of blood

Now, strange to tell, the Plants sweat Drops of Blood

The Trees are toss'd from Forests where they stood;

Blue Serpents o'er the tainted Herbage slide,

Pale glaring Spectres on the Aether ride;

Ovid's Metamorphoses. Book XIV, Translated by Sir Samuel Garth

.:.

They come from beds of lichen green,
They creep from the mullein’s velvet screen;      
  Some on the backs of beetles fly
From the silver tops of moon-touched trees,
  Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high

The Culprit Fay, Joseph Rodman Drake