Ii

"The trees, which thought it grievous thing To weep their own sweet leaves away, Untaught as yet how soon the Spring Upon their nestled heads should lay Her callow wing--

"The trees, whereat we smiled again, To see them, in their growing wonder, Suppose their buds were verdant rain, Until the gay winds rustled under Their feathered train,

"Lo, now they stand in braver mien, And, claiming stronger shadow-right, Make prisoner of the intrusive light, And strew the winds with green.