The sensitive plant

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

And a northern whirlwind, wandering about

Like a wolf that had smelt a dead child out,

Shook the boughs thus laden, and heavy and stiff,

And snapped them off with his rigid griff.

LXXII

When winter had gone and spring came back

The Sensitive Plant was a leafless wreck;

But the mandrakes, and toadstools, and docks, and darnels,

Rose like the dead from their ruined charnels.