In Winter Woods 399 



outward, and each successive season's growth will 

 force them still further from the centre of trunk or 

 bough. So after awhile the sealed and disused 

 sieve-cells of long-vanished summers find their way 

 into the outer bark, and are sloughed off. 



The forest where " frost hath wrought a 

 silence," and where every tree is wrapped in its 

 slumber-robe, sleeps as one who expects to be 

 aroused and loves the expectation. 



The danger guarded against is not that the trees 

 will sleep too late, but that they may awaken too 

 soon. 



For the Earth's heart wakes for the Sun-prince, 

 who is coming from the South, and the woods, 

 hushed by winter, dream of spring. 



And, as sometimes in summer nights day-birds 

 rouse, call to their fellows, and sleep again, we can 

 fancy that the trees now and then half awake, 

 and whisper to one another, " Is spring drawing 

 near?" 



Then the great pine, which looks southward from 

 the hill top, sends down through many branches 

 the murmurous message, " Not yet," " Not yet." 



