I ask but this, to consummate my bliss:
"I feel the cold, both in my bark and bud,
When Autumn winds sweep o'er the western hill,
And frozen dewdrops oft my branches stud,
Which mar my beauty and my juices chill.
Give me an extra garb, 'tis all I lack."
"Thou hast thy wish, I shelter found in thee,
I take delight in kind to pay thee back.
Let softest moss thy extra garment be."
Then touched the angel bark, and bud, and leaf,