124 TREES IN NATURE, MYTH & ART 



the tree, or merely hangs by a few fibres, the 

 tree cannot carry on its elaborate work on the 

 leaf-stems on that branch. It has, in fact, no 

 need to do so ; for leaves on a dead branch 

 can make no demands on the tree. Hence 

 the leaves, left to themselves, and not actually 

 turned adrift, hold to the dead branch longer 

 than they could to the living one. 



The sight of the leafless trees in winter, 

 then, need not move us to pity. This feeling, 

 if we are to admit it at all, must be reserved 

 for the fallen leaves, swept roughly together, 

 and piled into a heap, to become the useful, 

 fertilising leaf-mould, by the aid of which other 

 leaves, and flowers, and fruit, will be grown. 

 For the trees themselves winter does not mean 

 death, or disease, or privation, but only a pause. 

 Their branches may no longer be leafy choirs 

 for the song-birds, but though bare, they are 

 not ruined. Already next year's leaves and 

 flowers are there in bud, ready, one might 

 almost say eager, to open out, as soon as in 

 the growing warmth of earth and air the sap 

 will rise, bringing food to promote their 

 growth. 



There is nothing to suggest melancholy in 



