And rot on the chill earth. Around me grow
Nothing but useless weeds, and grass, and fern,
Unfit to hold companionship with me.
Ah, me! most wretched! rain and frost and dew
And all the pangs and penalties of earth
Corrupt me where I lie—degenerate."
And thus the acorn made its daily moan.
The other raised no murmur of complaint
And looked with no contempt upon the grass
Nor called the branching fern a worthless weed