第370章 THESE tufted branches fairObserve, my loved one, w

And see the fruits they bearIn green and prickly shell!

They've hung roll'd up, till now,Unconsciously and still;A loosely-waving boughDoth rock them at its will.

Yet, ripening from within.

The kernel brown swells fast;

It seeks the air to win,It seeks the sun at last.

With joy it bursts its thrall,The shell must needs give way.

'Tis thus my numbers fallBefore thy feet, each day.

1815.

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