" These naked shoots 

 Barren as lances, among which the wind 

 Makes wintry music, sighing as it goes, 

 Shall put their graceful foliage on again. 

 And more aspiring, and with ampler spread. 

 Shall boast new charms, and more than they have lost. 

 Then each, in its peculiar honours clad. 

 Shall publish even to the distant eye. 

 Its family and tribe." Cowper. 



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