Which rejoiced at being broken
By such tender hands, and thought thus:
"Sweet it was in these dark pine-woods,
To be blooming, 'mid the rocks here,
But still sweeter in the May-time
'Tis to die, and with the last breath
Highly then to spice the May-wine
For the joy of human beings.
Death in general is corruption,
But the woodroof's death is like that