As at the very bidding of the spring,
Burst forth, and soon each tender branch was gay
With flowers that nodded in the winter’s breeze
(So blossomed in old time the prophet’s rod),
And Lancelot stood and saw the wondrous thing.
Then softly spake the hermit, “Now is grief
Reproved, and sorrow cast out with the lees;
For God beholds the living, not the dead;
And He that took the semblance of a child
Loves He but penance, and the drooping head,