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.”’ 
