OU see the tree that sweeps my window-pane?All the long winter-time it moans and grieves; In the bleak nights I hear its boughs complain, Praying for gracious sunshine and warm rain, And its withheld inheritance of leaves.
But what avails it? Though the sad tree wears Its heart out with its grief, what shall it gain? Do you believe the tardy summer cares For all its wild rebukes and passionate prayers, Or that the sun shines warmer for its pain?
Verily not. No pleader can prevail Who prays against the laws of Time or Fate: No matter how we murmur and bewail, The robins will not build in winter hall, Nor lilacs blow in February. Wait!
Have faith, my friend. And when these stormy glooms Have chastened us for June, come here again, And yon shall see my tree made glad with blooms, Its branches all a-toss with purple plumes Sweeping across this selfsame window-pause!
OU see the tree that sweeps my window-pane? All the long winter-time it moans and grieves; In the bleak nights I hear its boughs complain, Praying for gracious sunshine and warm rain, And its withheld inheritance of leaves. 
OU see the tree that sweeps my window-pane? All the long winter-time it moans and grieves; In the bleak nights I hear its boughs complain, Praying for gracious sunshine and warm rain, And its withheld inheritance of leaves. 