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Poems and Songs, by Bjornstjerne Bjornson |
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THE TREE (FROM ARNE) |
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_ Ready with leaves and with buds stood the tree. "Shall I take them?" the frost said, now puffing with glee. "Oh my, no, let them stand, Till flowers are at hand!" All trembling from tree-top to root came the plea. Flowers unfolding the birds gladly sung. The cherries came forth 'neath the sun's glowing eye. |