And bloom to rosy morn. And even now,
Were I to snap a twig ’twould bleed and die.
See ye; ’tis done! Look ye!
Ye believe but what ye see:
Here within thy very hand
Thou holdest Doubt’s undoing.
I bid ye look upon the bud
Already gathered ’neath the tender bark.
The sun’s set and rise hath coaxed it forth.
Thee canst see the rogue hath stolen red