O we are fruit trees all,
With blossoms cover'd over,
Which bloom and make great promise,
But fall and come to nothing!

For bleak winds come and shake us,
And biting frosts that nip us;
And, worse than all, the canker-worm
That of ourselves is born:
It hollows the young bud's heart,
Though it leave a fair outside.

But be our hearts not shaken,
Though our fruit be nipt in the bud:
There is no end to our blossoming,
If we be strong within.

Let us think the power is in us —
If we would put it forth —
To turn the winds of heaven,
To thaw the frosts of earth;
That a gall is in the will,
To poison the canker-worm:
And thinking, feeling thus,
Gives us the power.

But if when all our strength
Is used, there still should be
Some wishes, aspirations,
Beyond our bringing out;
Then are they too fine things
To be matured here;
They are as roots and seeds,
That will shoot up with the soul,
Amid the pure air of Heaven.