Nor scorned the woodland flowers that round it blew.
All silently and piously it lay
Upon the kindly bosom of the earth.
It blessed the warmth with which the noonday sun
Made fruitful all the ground; it loved the dews,
The moonlight and the snow, the frost and rain
And all the change of seasons as they passed.
It sank into the bosom of the soil.
The bursting life, enclosed within its husk,
Broke through its fetters; it extended roots