And you, noble forest comrades,
Who so oft, with bronze-like foreheads,
Bravely have withstood my rudeness,
Ye whose trunks I have to thank for
Many knocks against my skull-bone,
Ye alone shall hear my secret:
Soon the Spring himself he cometh,
And then, when the buds are bursting,
Lark and blackbird sing their carols,
And with fervent heat the Spring sun