Hello Ryan, I have no definitive answer for you. I had assumed that Cyprus avenue was named for Cypress trees - ie something like Cupressus macrocarpa. I don't live on that side of Belfast, but if I am passing that way in the future I will check. As to what trees are common in city streets here, the two commonest are lime (Tilia x europea) and London plane (Platanus x acerifolia). Recently some newer trees such as the columnar oak and some hornbeam varieties have been planted.
Hello again, I wasn't sure from the photos so I went to Cypress Av this afternoon to look. There is a mixture of trees. There are about half and half Austrian pine (Pinus nigra) and common lime (Tilia x europaea). There are also 2 horse chestnuts and two or three sycamore (the European one - Acer pseudoplatanus). The Pines are huge and may be among the oldest street trees in the City. There are some new pines planted in gaps, probably in the last few years. You can see both the pines and limes in the photos you sent.Professor Pilcher also speculated that the Austrian pines—a species not native to the British Isles, though it thrives in Northern Ireland—on Cyprus Avenue are 80 to 100 years old, meaning Morrison likely strolled underneath these very trees. And that's what I believe the trees partially represent in "Cyprus Avenue": permanence, an immortality that children mirthfully crave ("Someday I want to come back to life as a tree!"), the notion that even though individual existence will one day be snuffed out like a candle, some things will endure in perpetuity. The trees also symbolize the promise of change, the inevitably of remaining ourselves yet becoming someone very different, the irrepressible passage of time that the young Morrison was only beginning to experience. Our personal development is reflected in the seasonal transformations identified in a tree. A sycamore sprouts clustered, pale green flowers in the spring, then five-lobed leaves shortly afterward. In the fall, the leaves turn a crinkly brown and die, joining the tree's winged fruit in falling to the ground. The tree becomes dormant in winter and then the whole process starts over. It's a complex life cycle neatly packaged into one year, a life cycle that we actively encounter as we journey through our very own. I see an adolescent Morrison tossing handfuls of the sycamore's winged fruit in the air and gleefully watching them helicopter to earth—and leaving the adults to sweeping the bronzed, curled leaves into neat piles and then unceremoniously cremating them.