Classic Poem

Waking in May, the peach-tree thought:
" Idle and bare and weaving naught!
Here have I slept the winter through —
I with my Master's work to do! "

Started the buds. The blossoms came,
Till all the branches were a-flame.
She rocked the birds, and wove the green,
A busy tree as ever was seen.

Busy and blithe, she drank the dew;
She caught the sunbeams gliding through;
She drew her wealth from sky and soil,
And rustled gayly in her toil.

Now see the peach-tree's drooping head,
With all her fruit a-blushing red!
Knowing her Master's work is done,
She meekly resteth in the sun.