She went on through the wood. And, at every step, more anemones appeared. They stood in thick bevies round the roots of the beech and bashfully bowed their round heads to the ground.
“Look up freely,” said Dame Spring, “and rejoice in heaven’s bright sun. Your lives are but short, so you must enjoy them while they last.”
The anemones did as she told them. They stretched themselves and spread their white petals to every side and drank as much sunshine as they could. They knocked their heads against one another and wound their stalks together and laughed and were constantly happy.
“Now I can wait no longer,” said the beech and came into leaf.
Leaf after leaf crept out of its green covering and spread out and fluttered in the wind. The whole green crown arched itself like a mighty roof above the ground.
“Good heavens, is it evening so soon?” asked the anemones, who thought that it had turned quite dark.
“No, it is death,” said Dame Spring. “Now you’re finished. It’s the same with you as with the best in this world. All must bud, blossom and die.”
“Die?” cried some of the small anemones. “Must we die yet?”
And some of the large anemones turned quite red in the face with anger and pride:
“We know all about it!” they said. “It’s the beech that’s killing us. He steals the sunshine for his own leaves and grudges us a single ray. He is a nasty, wicked thing.”