Though naked trees seem dead to sight,
When Winter wind doth keenly blow
Yet if the root maintain her right,
The Spring their hidden life will show:
But if the root be dead and dry,
No marvel though the branches die.

While hope did live within my breast,
No Winter storm could kill desire;
But now disdain hath hope opprest,
Dead is the root, dead is the spire.
Hope was the root, the spire was love;
No sap beneath, no life above.

And as we see the rootless stock
Retain some sap, and spring awhile;
Yet quickly prove a lifeless block,
Because the root doth life beguile:
So lives desire, which hope hath left;
As twilight shines when sun is reft.