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42 His massive bole, and laughing try To count the patches of blue sky Betwixt his leaves, or in the shades That trembled on the grassy blades Trace curious faces, till her head Of gold grew heavy; then he'd spread His leaves to shield her, while he droned A lullaby, so softly toned It seemed but as the gentle sigh Of Summer as she floated by; While bird and beast grew humble-voiced, Seeing those golden ringlets moist With dew of sleep. With one small hand Grasping a grass-stem for a wand, Titania slept. Nature nor spoke, Nor dared to breathe, until she woke.

The years passed onward; and perchance The Tree had shot his tufted lance Up to the sky a few slow feet; But one great limb grew down to greet His mistress, who had ne'er declined In love for him, though far behind Her child-life lay, and now she stood Waiting to welcome womanhood. She loved him always as of old; Yet would his great roots grasp the mould, And knotted branches grind and groan To see her seek him not alone;