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George MacDonald - The Tree`s PrayerGeorge MacDonald - The Tree`s Prayer
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Alas, `tis cold and dark! The wind all night hath sung a wintry tune! Hail from black clouds that swallowed up the moon Beat, beat against my bark. Oh! why delays the spring? Not yet the sap moves in my frozen veins; Through all my stiffened roots creep numbing pains, That I can hardly cling. The sun shone yester-morn; I felt the glow down every fibre float, And thought I heard a thrush`s piping note Of dim dream-gladness born. Then, on the salt gale driven, The streaming cloud hissed through my outstretched arms, Tossed me about in slanting snowy swarms, And blotted out the heaven. All night I brood and choose Among past joys. Oh, for the breath of June! The feathery light-flakes quavering from the moon The slow baptizing dews! Oh, the joy-frantic birds!— They are the tongues of us, mute, longing trees! Aha, the billowy odours! and the bees That browse like scattered herds! The comfort-whispering showers That thrill with gratefulness my youngest shoot! The children playing round my deep-sunk root, Green-caved from burning hours! See, see the heartless dawn, With naked, chilly arms latticed across! Another weary day of moaning loss On the thin-shadowed lawn! But icy winter`s past; Yea, climbing suns persuade the relenting wind: I will endure with steadfast, patient mind; My leaves will come at last!
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